- 



Y ';•*. •■ '• . ’l\ / ' t ^ '' '■'' 

;v' ^ '• : • -• 2 J- 




• • O' , - ;*< 

■ t ':•••■■<-- 

■ T- ■ . ■ • -i ,^.'t 




V . 


Vv^-v-vd 


7 <^r 


5»' ' L 




'■ . ;■■■ ■:'■' .V'''V'-r’'''‘i> 

'■ ■■"■.-'■■ 

i.-' ■ ■' 


- 'J 




'-it 


5’-> 


.oi 


Vr'‘ 






r.'.;'-' i -. 






E 5 Hi 




CK,^, 




, , A. s 'f . • ■ ■ ;"■•■, '< .•'•'■ 

‘•r; •/•/.. ..•■ •. . • ■ - -f..'. 




'•‘h V- ■ ': •' 


'•f. 




7 V 
ti'.V.j*’.' 


: ' ■ f^v > t ^ . * * 

•. . v;- 

''■, •••-• •. '•.' ‘ •■.>- •■:' 7 -‘. :• . 

• ; .' ■’' '.v- ; . :^.- 








h- 












Lv* 

r/l» 


--'V 


'5^. 


im; 






. f 






V . • * I , 

*. ' I \ A,r, : 


w 


- ^ • 








‘ ■ ;• ' • ■ , / ' ,•' -t'ch 


1 .'. ' N.: /is 




'-ij 




lUy. 


'- .- :7 


*. IK 








' 5 .»'» . * 


• ’-'y'-'Mi' ■ , V' ■ ■ ' * 

■• •'■ .' •<S.^''.v.''.'' V, • ,. . . 








7. 




'v 




,-. 5^:5 i 


'AH- 

:« .-. —.•'iu 


*1' 




,-fy .t j 


•i'i 




I ‘ ... , , ' 1- ■,'•'*•• .1 ••.*. i« 


■ .«.'•: . 7 s 5 * r 


J'if-.AS 7 




tf: 












• : 7'‘' 


<'*; 7,. 










rn. 


... ■••X*-. ' • . 

.'»' •, •' . ». r ■ ' i"- ••. ■ v 

'• w.'.f-.' '.' 7 - •; 1 * •' 


S,X' 




7 


7':;, 




••>7 7 


'Ms- 


m 






■^1 


i 




5 -: 


‘W> 


< 


, l'' . ' . , 


I*', 











filass "P 3 

Rnok ’ C ^1-^3 V\ 

Copight 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




V 


% , 


/ 






-4 


•f 


V 


% V 


• ^ 

M 




, 4 -r. 



» * 





i ‘ , .'C^ / v 
\ : i: ■ 

V. t* * * 




*/ 


, ' 






• -T#/ a 


IV ■- 
‘i: • 


. ' 4 . / 



I 


I . « 




r ' 



■••■/v; ■'■'•■'I 

, V.- - 

• , \ 4 a’ . ' ^ 1 ' ‘ 




■>V.hPr, 








Ir/"' ^ V' ■ ■' 







Kenelm’s Desire 




It’s dogged that does it. 


99 


r' . 

v . • 


/ 


9 


Kenelm’s Desire 


BY 

Hughes Cornell 

I* 


K 


BOSTON 

Little, brown, and Company 

1906 



* 






' -^ * ‘ * ' *• - 


» 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

I The Song of Sheewin i 

II Captain Ken ii 

III In which Desire Meets Lydia’s 

Mother 23 

IV The Islands’ Welcome 39 

V The Recall 46 

VI Renunciation and Resolve .... 60 

VII After Five Strenuous Years .... 72 

Vni The White Stone Chief 84 

IX Ideals 97 

X In Camp no 

XI The Narrows 117 

XII Lady Pelley 135 

XIII The Sting of Good Fortune .... 144 

XIV Salmon 148 

XV The Heart Desires 161 

XVI The Coming of Sheewin 175 

XVII Frau Eda 189 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

XVIII Fighting Bob 195 

XIX Time Flies 209 

XX Gonzales 223 

XXI Doctor Meredith’s Prescription . . 234 

XXII Drifting 247 

XXIII Chieftain of Her Clan 262 

XXIV Wedding Garments 278 

XXV Adjoining Chambers 291 

XXVI The Watchers 292 

XXVII Kith and Kin 296 

XXVIII The Indian Heritage 308 

XXIX Premier of British Columbia . . . 313 

XXX The Goddess from the Machine . . 319 

XXXI A New Deal 337 

XXXII The Race of the Letters .... 353 

XXXIII Old Sandy’s Handsel 357 

XXXIV The Heart’s Desire 368 

And Then — 382 


KENELM’S DESIRE 


CHAPTER I 

THE SONG OF SHEEWIN 

N O previous shock — she had received many 
in the course of her short, emotional exist- 
ence — had in the least prepared Desire 
for the blunt nerve-concussion of her first sight 
of Lydia’s mother. 

Desire, altruistic Desire — (If one but dared a 
few adjectives! Dared to preface her name with 
such a goodly string as, impulsive, impressional, 
impassioned, rebellious, complaisant, conven- 
tional, convention-scorning! Or does altruistic 
infer all these?) Desire, then, had early an- 
nounced her championship of her indiscreet 
lawyer-cousin Morgan Llewellyn, his disappoint- 
ing, thirty-year-old wife, Lydia; and Elbridge, 
their blue-eyed babe;^ which goes far toward 
explaining Lydia’s initial friendship toward the 
one really young girl of the connection. Conse- 


1 


2 


Kenelm’s Desire 


quently, Desire had, for the first year after the 
general family reconciliation to Morgan^ s clandes- 
tine marriage, seen much of Lydia. 

Notwithstanding, she, in common with the rest 
of the family, had sensed something mysterious in 
Lydia; a something beyond, behind, accounting 
perhaps, in part, for her grossness and for her 
charm. 

By degrees, in the established intimacy of the 
end of the first twelvemonth, Lydia had told 
much to Desire of her home and associates in 
the northern coast island where she had been 
born a subject of the Queen. 

“But how did you happen to know ship cap- 
tains?’’ Desire asked one day, later on, when 
one of these heretofore shadowy abstractions had 
unexpectedly taken on the attributes of substance 
and a name. 

Lydia’s long, leaf-brown eyes narrowed over 
her embroidery; a kind of work she did ex- 
quisitely. 

“Know ’em!” she said, with her big, bluff 
laugh, to which Desire could never grow accus- 
tomed. “Why, there isn’t a ship’s officer on the 
coast of British Columbia that don’t know father. 
Father’s a captain himself; well, not just to say a 
captain. Father’s a pilot. That’s since he set- 
tled at Wake Siah, forty-odd years ago. Before 
that he was a Hudson Bay Company man. Don’t 
you forget — there hasn’t been a ship in the har- 


The Song of Sheewin 


3 


bor the last forty years that father hasn’t taken in 
or out, some time or other. Ship captains — 
why! I was just naturally brought up on ship 
captains, as you may say.” 

Desire contemplated Lydia’s plump, beauti- 
fully gowned figure and undeniably stylish turn 
of head for some moments before speaking again; 
striving to reconcile their confident ease and world- 
liness with the descriptions of pilots’ daughters, 
from Lizzie Hexam downwards, in the waterside 
fiction in which she had indulged as a conse- 
quence of Lydia’s bits of maritime narration. 
Especially did her eyes linger on her cousin-in- 
law’s tapering white fingers, capped by nails, the 
shape, texture and polish of which often brought 
the young girl close to despair. 

‘^You never could have done hard work,” she 
said, with no relevance to the sea captain, whose 
attractions Lydia was again busied in recounting. 

^‘Workl” shrieked Lydia. ^‘Well, I guess not! 
Father didn’t bring up his girls to work, and 
ma’d have thought it a disgrace. She’s always 
had a ‘John’ of some description in her kitchen. 

I never saw ma do a day’s work in the kitchen in 
my life, unless it might be putting up fruit, like. 

I guess not! Pa wouldn’t have let her. Don’t 
you make any mistake about that.” 

“Of course, that explains it,” Desire said to her- 
self. “Lydia gets her aristocratic points from her 
mother, and her bluff ness from the pilot, her father.” 


4 


Kenelm’s Desire 


She listened unheeding, weaving the while a 
pretty, tenuous, unworded romance; in which a 
slim-handed aristocrat left her home to become 
the tenderly cherished wife of a common sailor. 

In the Llewellyn family ran a similar legend of a 
Lady of Title who had condescended to a North of 
Ireland tradesman of Welsh descent, and had 
emigrated with him to America to escape the 
implacable enmity of her noble family. 

‘^But the Lady Flora was Scotch, and she did 
not leave me as nice hands as Lydia’s,’’ she 
sighed at the end of her revery, with a smile. 

Just then Morgan came in, leading the boy; 
dear, unworldly Morgan, with his big heart, his 
radical sense of honor, clear brain, strong prin- 
ciples and weak performances. Desire, young as 
she was for her seventeen years, felt vaguely the 
pathos of the situation whenever she saw husband 
and wife together; felt it now, although she noted 
with satisfaction that Lydia’s year and a half of 
vigorous domestic rule had in many ways been 
for her husband’s welfare. 

Morgan was engaged in exemplifying his pater- 
nal authority. 

“Once more, Elly, the last time!” 

But it was Elly’s day for taking chances. He 
had not seen his father’s hasty appropriation of a 
hairbrush in the very act of their turbulent emer- 
gence from the adjoining bedroom. No hairbrush, 
no danger, was the way Baby worked it out in his 


The Song of Sheewin 5 

dot of a mind. Of course, papa had been known 
to return for the punitory implement; then it 
would be time enough to give in. As a variation 
from the irksome good behavior of a San Fran- 
cisco boarding-house existence, there was perilous 
exhilaration in ascertaining just how near he 
could come to a spanking, and yet escape. 

Therefore, the hairbrush up Morgan’s sleeve 
really was an unfair advantage on the side of 
authority. 

Elly shut his lips and shook his head. 

With a deft twirl Morgan swung the mutinous 
figure around, stooped so as to imprison the 
yellow head, and instituted a series of swift, 
mufiled bangs on the outside of the starched 
white petticoat. Elly resisted with head and 
heels, screaming valiantly and gripping a certain 
disputed paper more tightly than before. Spank- 
ing once in process, the only thing left seemed to 
be to get the greatest possible amount of excite- 
ment out of the proceeding. 

Hark! Sounds of fife and drum break through 
Elly’s melodramatic howls. Quick as a flash he 
twists his head out of chancery, dashes the hair- 
brush out of Morgan’s hand, drops on the carpet 
the original cause of disturbance, seizes his father’s 
fingers, good comrades once more, and drags him 
to the window, shouting joyously, ^‘See! Pa^a! 
Boom-de-ray! Boom-de-ray! Boom! Boom! 
Boom!” 


6 


Kenelm^s Desire 


“There! Ain’t that just like them two?” 
Lydia gasped, lying back in spasms of laughter. 
“Did you ever see two people so near alike in 
all your life? Just both children! No wonder 
I’ve got my hands full with the two of them. 
Let’s see what all this racket’s about, anyhow. I 
may be wantin’ to take a hand in it myself.” 

She stooped to pick up the disputed paper, on 
which were a few lines, neatly written and equally 
spaced. 

“There! I knew it was a tempest in a teapot. 
Just nothing at all, if you’ll believe me, but some 
of Kennie’s portry; not to say real portry, neither. 
Just Indian stuff that they think is portry. I 
guess Allie sent it in a letter, the other day.” 

“Indian stuff! Let me see,” Desire cried 
eagerly. “Why, how — how — quaint!” hesitating 
for a word and sure “quaint” was not the right 
one, as soon as she had said it. “What does it 
mean? Who was Sheewin? What did he do?” 

The unrhymed lines, full of crude sadness, im- 
perfectly phrased, rudely rhythmical, ran thus: 

Sheewin, whose swift feet have long passed the Star-trail, 
Wide, curving Star-trail that shines to the Southward, 

Far to the South, where it springs from the white snows, 
Love-bringer, Sheewin, 

Bring joy from the Star-land! 

Come once more, Sheewin — come to the sad earth! 

Long the white Star-trail I watch in the night hours. 

Lonely my night hours, since Death led love from me. 

Joy sings no more in my House by the Waters. 


The Song of Sheewin 


7 


Love-bringer, Sheewin, 

Bring joy from the Star-land! 

Come once more, Sheewin — come to the sad earth! 

^‘Oh, Sheewin’s supposed to be one of the old- 
time Indian gods. I don’t know much about 
them, but Kennie’s just full of the truck. I 
never heard anything about this Sheewin, except 
that when he was on earth he taught people to 
love one another, and brought the men good 
wives. Invented getting married, I guess. He 
taught them to do good; something like Christ, 
I should think, but I never heard the full par- 
ticulars. He’s Alaskan; not just plain Siwash. 
Anyway, he went off into the sky, walking on the 
Milky Way. They call it Sheewin’s Trail. Some 
day he’ll come back across the stars and bring love 
to the earth again. Then every good husband 
will have a good wife. Lord knows it’s time he 
was a-comin’!” sudden softening in her harsh 
tones. 

‘‘You must have learned a good deal about 
Indians,” Desire hinted deferentially; but, “Come 
once more, Sheewin — come to the sad earth,” 
repeated itself through her brain in the madden- 
ing way familiar to musically sensitive persons. 
“ Come to the sad earth” — she could all but catch 
the melody — not quite a melody — nor a wail — 
she must get to her piano and work it out. 

Against Lydia’s surprised remonstrances she 
hurried away from the hotel; heard the lament of 


8 


Kenelm’s Desire 


the lines through clashing of car-gongs and buzz- 
ing of electric trolleys; swung them over in time 
to the swish of water against the ferry-boat, and 
at last, abreast of Goat Island, caught the right 
end of the rhythmic thread firmly between her 
pocket-pencil and the blank side of the square of 
notepaper which had brought into her conven- 
tional existence the mystery of a half-forgotten 
world. 

It was hardly a theme that she jotted down in 
nervous haste, and yet it hung together; a remi- 
niscence, perhaps, of queer croonings to which she 
had listened when a child, stringing buttons by 
the hour in company with Angie — poor, gentle 
Angie — her Indian nurse-girl; dead, long since, 
of consumption — and civilization. 

^^A fourth here,’’ she muttered thoughtfully, 
‘^yes, and over here a sixth: ‘sad earth.’” She 
hummed a bit with growing belief. “If I can 
only work it out — ” For Desire was a musician 
by instinct, by training and by heredity. 

Whether destined to be great, no one of her ad- 
mirers felt competent to predict ; that is, when safely 
away from the witchery of her playing. The only 
certainty about it was, that for months at a time 
she would play on and with her piano like an 
incarnate spirit of melody. Those were always 
happy months, full of sustained elation. Each 
day hours went by at the keyboard, and hours 
more at the desk, as she wove fugues and canon 


The Song of Sheewin 9 

forms according to their century-old methods of 
counterpoint and harmony; elaborating entire or- 
chestral suites — breaking in on heavier labors, 
now and again, for a snatch at a song; of which, in 
her graver moods, she was inclined to feel ashamed. 

During the latter parts of these periods tears 
sprang at the slightest excuse, or without it; 
temper wavered; and the matter usually ended 
in Frau Eda, her German mother, sending her 
daughter away from their snug cottage in Ala- 
meda to the mountains, or across to the city, or 
to any accessible place where she could hope to 
find inartistic people who might be counted on 
to make a great deal of fun go a long way. 

This evening, when Desire came tearing in, 
the well-known lamp of inspiration lighting up 
her big, shadowy brown eyes, Frau Eda clasped 
her plump hands in grotesque despair. 

‘‘Impossible!” before Desire could speak. “I 
was so sure you were safe with Lydia! Don’t 
say that she begins to inspire you with ideas. I 
will not believe it! What am I to do if Lydia 
turns musical!” 

The distress, genuine and comic, made Desire 
laugh and hug her mother into laughing before she 
attempted to show what was in her hand. But 
this Frau Eda stoutly refused to see. 

“ No ! ” she protested . “I am discouraged . If 
I only knew where to send you that there would 
be no musical people to fear!” 


lO 


Kenelm’s Desire 


“Then let me go to British Columbia this sum- 
mer, with Lydia,’’ Desire suggested mischievously. 
While the words still hung on her lips, the plan 
suddenly assumed feasibility and vital impor- 
tance; she rushed rapidly along, to head off 
premature objections. “You know she has been 
begging. I didn’t think I cared. Now I do — I 
want to see the Indians and hear their songs, and 
go canoeing and sailing and mountain-climbing 
and fishing — oh, may I? May I?” 


CHAPTER II 


CAPTAIN KEN 

‘‘X TATIVE Sons of British Columbia — For- 
ward — M arch! ’ ’ 

An even three hundred of long, overalled 
limbs swung forward at the sharp word of com- 
mand, exhibiting different degrees of certitude and 
different lengths of stride. Two hundred and 
ninety-seven were sinister members; the three 
comrades who had started off on the wrong foot 
caught the scathing gleam of their young com- 
mander’s eye, executed an extemporaneous tip- toe 
dance, thus bringing a whirlwind of scorn down 
on their bewildered heads, and at varying drum- 
taps lighted accidentally on the required foot at 
the required moment; thereafter swinging out 
with the best of the lads to the rhythmic banging of 
the native Indian band that headed the procession. 

The native band, of exceeding provincial re- 
nown, came from up Fort Simpson way; its 
employment betokening that unusually grave 
matters were toward. 

It could be seen that dark blood was not con- 
fined entirely to the musicians. Here and there 


II 


12 


Kenelm’s Desire 


the ranks of big-boned, sandy-haired, blue-eyed 
English- or Scotch-descended British Columbians 
were punctuated by a somewhat smaller man of 
darker complexion than could be ascribed to the 
sun-and-water tan common to the whole brother- 
hood. But not a half-dozen Native Sons in line 
betrayed by skin, structure or color this mixture 
of the aboriginal element. Perhaps a dozen 
others, blue-eyed, ruddy-haired, fair-skinned, held 
varying proportions of Indian blood in their 
veins. 

A sightly picture the procession made, spinning 
out its quadruple thread from the tangle of hu- 
manity heaped at the base of the impressive 
white bastion, the one relic of the old Hudson 
Bay Company days. 

Thus led by the musicians, whose dark coloring 
was well set off by their jauntily fitting blue suits, 
plentifully red-striped and brass-buttoned, the pa- 
rade swept along Front Street, past the closed, 
familiar great doors of Shaft No. i, turned to 
the right for several prettily shaded, decently built 
residence blocks, thence westward through the 
select hill portion of the town, again to the right 
and north across the bridge spanning the narrow 
estuary, back within a block of the bastion, then 
with a conclusive curve, once more to the left 
before coming to a standstill, with great blaring 
of trumpets and beating of drums, in the large, 
triangular space formed by Front Street, where 


Captain Ken 


13 


that thoroughfare sweeps clear of business, to 
broaden into a pretty, crescent-shaped boulevard 
with its convex edge directly upon the margin of 
the bay. 

On the left, in front of, but between the ivy- 
clad English church and the stately Provincial 
buildings, which rise in pale but sturdy elegance 
from greensward reminiscent of Old England, 
stands a circular wooden bandstand, modestly 
ornate. 

Within this raised pavilion the Fort Simpson 
band established itself in a double semicircle of 
chairs, facing the harbor and the expectant, in- 
tervening multitude; gave an enthusiastic tenth 
rendering of ^‘Columbia, the Pride of the Ocean,” 
and at its completion settled themselves back in 
statuesque pose, as the orator of the evening ad- 
vanced to the front, where he stood, bowing and 
nervously twisting a large and not overly clean 
bandanna, in acknowledgment of the rattling vol- 
ley of handclapping which greeted his appearance. 

Cause for public complaint existed, in that the 
Provincial Mining Company contemplated a cut, 
both in wages and in the number of men em- 
ployed. Ten per cent off, and only married 
men to be retained, was the rumor. 

The ready speaker went over the salient points 
of his argument with much mouthing, shouting 
and gesticulation. He made it clear that a Union 
strike must succeed. 


14 


Kenelm’s Desire 


During a momentary pause to give force to the 
plaudits of the crowd, whose passions were by 
this time worked well up to the exploding point, 
occurred the truly exciting event of the evening. 

Young Kenelm Fraser, Marshal of the Native 
Sons section of the parade, sprang up the wooden 
steps into the bandstand, took off his cap with a 
flourish which implied entreaty as well as com- 
mand, and called out above the confused tumult 
of voices,. “Boys! Listen to me a minute!’’ 

The managers of the Strike demonstration 
gathered around Kenelm dissuadingly, but he 
persisted. 

“This is a free country,” the now quiet crowd 
heard him reply to their remonstrances, “and I 
claim the right of free speech for five minutes. I 
shan’t ask more time. Never mind what I’m 
going to say. I’m going to say it to the boys, 
and I’m going to say it just now.” 

“That’s right!” called out several of the Na- 
tive Sons, clannishly belligerent on the instant, 
“Kennie’s got the floor! ” “ Let him talk ! ” “We 
want to hear what Ken Fraser’s got to say!” 
“Three cheers for Captain Ken!” 

This last shout came from a contingent of 
Church Cadets, whose captain Kenelm had been 
for the year and a half gone by. 

Kenelm, muscular, of medium height, dark, and 
of modest demeanor, looking older than his twenty 
years, stood impassive until all was once more still. 


Captain Ken 


IS 

he then began in a sonorous voice 
that reached comfortably the outskirts of the crowd 
without stunning the people near at hand, ‘‘this 
meeting is announced to be in our interest. It is 
primarily for the good of the young, unmarried 
men, who, according to report, are to be dis- 
charged. That’s one reason why we Native Sons 
headed the parade tonight. Some of the Native 
Sons are married, I know, but just the same, 
they’re with us, to a man!” He stopped for the 
cheer to expend itself, also to get his second wind. 
“Now, what we want to be sure about is, just 
what will be for our best interest. ‘Steady work 
at present prices,’ you say. Well, yes. But we 
have to remember that the great rolling mills of 
the States are shutting down, one after another. 
Thousands of men are tramping the country who 
have always before been as honest working men 
as ourselves, supporting families. Both these 
things mean less demand for coal for public 
and private uses. Then, too, in California, our 
biggest market, oil is replacing coal with the rail- 
road companies. Grain is rotting in the ware- 
houses and fields all over the West. Fruit goes 
to waste on the trees; it doesn’t pay for the pick- 
ing. In consequence, the carrying trade is about 
ruined, shipping as well as railroading. That 
means less demand for coal. Suppose we force 
ourselves on the Provincial Mining Company by 
means of a strike. How long do you think work 


i6 Kenelm’s Desire 

will last? TheyVe got out coal enough now to 
fill orders for the next six months, at the present 
rate of consumption; all they’ve got to do is to 
ship it. The Company would gain financially by 
shutting down for six months or more. Are we 
prepared to meet six months of universal idleness ? 
They’d rather keep at work for the looks of the 
thing, and in hopes of a stronger market next 
year; but if we make this plan ruinous, they may 
be glad of a good excuse to stop. 

“Now look at us — young men. To be sure, 
we are unmarried, but not one in fifty of us is 
without a family and a home. We’re all home 
boys. Do we want to see our fathers out of work 
— they are the married men — and our mothers 
out of bread ? What if we are out of work ? As 
long as the fathers have anything we shan’t starve. 
As for us — we are big and husky. For the very 
reason that we’re not married, we can get out and 
hustle. There’s Alaska waiting for our picks and 
shovels — ” 

Unhappily for their cause, the Strike promo- 
ters, realizing the untoward effect of this homely 
discourse, at that moment signed for the band to 
start up; and start it did, lustily. 

The Native Sons, momentarily bewildered, but 
now in full sympathy with Kenelm, felt the insult 
to include themselves. With one accord they fol- 
lowed a long, lank, broad-shouldered fellow, 
known as Sabellita Island Jimmie, whose high 


Captain Ken 


17 


cheek-bones betokened Indian descent, as he 
rushed up the steps and into the pavilion, ready 
for fight or frolic, as the event might befall. 

Kenelm met them at the top step, laughing and 
shouldering his way down among them. 

‘^That’s all right, boys!” he shouted. “I was 
just about spun out, anyway. Let the band play 
on. It’s safer than the mouth organs they’ve 
got up there. We’ll fall into line and march to 
the bastion. I guess we Native Sons can settle 
this matter for ourselves. Native Sons of British 
Columbia!” he called, in the trumpet note of 
authority. The line formed quickly under his 
practised hands. A moment later rang out, for 
the second time that evening, the stentorian com- 
mand: ‘^Native Sons of British Columbia — 
Forward — MarchP^ 

The Native Sons, followed by a straggling 
crowd which included all the unmarried and a 
majority of the married men of the audience, left 
the Triangle to the sound of a shrill-toned fife, 
borrowed by their marshal from a sympathizing 
member of the Native Band. 

In this way it occurred that the Strike move- 
ment came to a premature end ; for, at the uncere- 
monious adjourned meeting held in the bastion, 
sober counsels prevailed; it proved quiet and 
orderly. Kenelm did not speak again, but sat as 
usual on the back benches among the boys. Later, 
he went home unaccompanied, let himself in with- 


i8 Kenelm^s Desire 

out noise, looked over the day’s papers and a new 
magazine from London; then, still with that facti- 
tious quietude of thought and action, prepared him- 
self for bed. 

Imagination was not thus to be cheated. The 
moment the electric bulb was turned off, the inner 
flame began to burn. 

Helplessly Kenelm buried his face in the pillow. 
Before his closed eyes, in gorgeous color against a 
background of velvet blackness, swept the excited 
crowd on the Triangle. Their buzz of approval, 
their shouts of applause rang in his ears. Relent- 
lessly, every word of his short, unstudied speech 
came back, in all its effective crudity; his cheeks 
burned at the commonness of the words he had used. 

Then these words began, of their own volition, 
to develop into set and elegant phrases. He 
found himself delivering an eloquent harangue 
of which any orator might be proud. In the 
midst of this rhetorical effort he remembered, 
with a sharp thrill, how he had swayed the crowd 
to feel, think and act as he had decreed. 

Next morning found him, phlegmatic, at the 
usual hour, at his work; that of assistant book- 
keeper in the main office of the Provincial Mining 
Company. About ten o’clock the manager passed 
through. 

‘^Fraser,” he said, ^^can you stop in on your 
way home this noon, with the Sea GulVs bill of 
lading?” 


Captain Ken 


19 


^'Yes, sir/^ Kenelm replied, his finger holding 
his place on the column of figures while he looked 
up respectfully at the gray-haired magnate. 

^Xaptain Ken’s up against it,” scribbled the 
other junior. Kenelm, latest on the office force, 
would naturally be the first to go. 

At twelve, Kenelm took the Sea GulVs account 
and mounted the manager’s handsome stone door- 
steps, bearing a curiously heavy heart. 

Mr. Alexander seemed unusually sparing of 
words, even for him; but insisted on Kenelm’s 
remaining to luncheon while he went over the 
bill. 

A small, elderly, wiry man, Mr. Alexander had 
represented the management of the mines since 
their first opening, some twenty years before. A 
bachelor, he lived outside the small, social world 
of the town; permeating it, nevertheless, to its 
most minute ramifications. 

It was he, or the Provincial Company, through 
his representations, that donated” each spring 
to the neighborhood Lacrosse, baseball and cricket 
teams; helped out the interest on the various 
church debts; caused pleasure trails to be cut 
through the deep, surrounding forest; gave and 
maintained the spacious and beautiful recreation 
grounds just outside of town; encouraged pecun- 
iarily all yacht races and athletic tournaments, 
and, in the good old-fashioned way, still offered 
yearly prizes to deserving school children. 


20 


Kenelm’s Desire 


^‘Well, Fraser/’ began Mr. Alexander, after a 
somewhat silent repast, ‘‘so I hear ye’ve been 
making a public speech.” 

Kenelm stirred uneasily, dropping on the floor 
the napkin he had laboriously folded. 

“Well, not much of a one, Mr. Alexander,” he 
acknowledged. 

“No, not much of a one,” granted the manager, 
“not much of a one, as you may say, to be sure. 
But it hit the mark — eh?” 

“Yes, they listened to me. But I don’t believe 
the men would have done anything rash, anyway.” 

“I don’t know about that. I don’t know about 
that. I heard they were all headed the other 
way, first off. But however that may be,” he 
continued with gravity, “ you told them the truth, 
as clean as I could have done it myself. And 
they listened to you, where they wouldn’t ’ve to 
me. And that did them a service, and the P. M. 
Company a service, too. 

“The Company doesn’t want to be forced to 
shut down, just as you told them. Now, it’s only 
right that you should be in some measure recom- 
pensed for what you’ve done for us. So, when 
the young men are paid off, as it’ll be this after- 
noon, being a Saturday, you are to keep your place. 
In case the books don’t give you work enough. 
I’ll find something else to fill your time.” 

He arose, as if to avoid thanks and to terminate 
the interview. Kenelm, too, arose. 


Captain Ken 


21 


“I wish you’d give me a moment to think, Mr. 
Alexander,” he said huskily. 

Mr. Alexander removed his pipe from his mouth 
in stolid amaze. 

“A moment to think!” he repeated, but stood 
concedingly silent. 

Kenelm had already thought. 

‘^No, I don’t need the time, I guess. Think- 
ing wouldn’t change the facts. K somebody else 
had made the speech and you had told me to 
stay, I’d have done it, and glad of the chance. 
But, don’t you see, the boys would think me your 
paid man if I stayed on. It wouldn’t be fair for 
me to keep my place when I had persuaded them 
to give up theirs quietly. No, I shall have to go, 
too.” 

Mr. Alexander smoked a bit, his grizzled brows 
drawn closely together above his nose. 

‘‘Ye’re right, Kennie, lad,” he admitted. “You 
can’t cut yourself off from your mates. But what 
are you to do? Have you any plans I can help 
out?” 

“Not a plan,” Kenelm asseverated, showing 
his big dimples; a way he had when trying to 
keep his mouth straight to conceal amusement. 
“And the more you want to help me, the morel 
can’t let you. That’s what I call hard lines — 
eh?” 

The familiar provincial ejaculation made them 
both laugh. Mr. Alexander grew serious. 


22 


Kenelm’s Desire 


‘‘Don’t try Alaska, my lad,” he cautioned. 
“We can manage better than that, some gait. 
Well, think it over. If ever you see your way 
clear to coming back, there’s always a place for 
you here; and if you get in a pinch, come to me 
personally. You’ll find me ready with advice or 
assistance, and nobody the wiser — eh?” 

They shook hands when they parted, Kenelm 
with a new understanding of his manhood, which 
for the first time he had consciously interpreted 
into citizenship. 

But the gods, after all, were kind. 

Within a week the local Union had publicly 
endorsed and in some way requited his action. 
Much impressed by Kenelm’ s instinctive ability 
in handling an audience, they gave him the secre- 
taryship of the town Labor Organization, at the 
expense of a married man; to whom the canny 
manager gave compensatory employment at the 
mine. 

So it may not have been the gods, after all. 


CHAPTER III 


IN WHICH DESIRE MEETS LYDIA’S MOTHER 

E very bit of British Columbia Desire 
promptly loved; from the jagged, white- 
splashed mountains, which cut into the 
sky as mountains in California never cut, to the 
deep-hued wild rose that bloomed beside almost 
her first footprint in alien soil. She picked and 
pressed it. Years afterward the sight of it among 
her letters brought a sudden rush of tears. So 
intoxicating is it to be young, happy and sur- 
rounded by the wonders of a foreign land. 

Once outside Victoria, dandelions and daisies 
waved among the luxuriant grasses of the railroad 
embankment. Farther on the towns grew smaller; 
lakes peeped out through gaps in the forest. The 
deep ditches on either side were filled up level 
with the track by tremendous, radiantly green 
masses of fern, so high that the cows browsing 
amidst their closely packed fronds could be de- 
tected only now and then by the startled uptoss 
of a horned head or the remonstrating wave of a 
serpentine tail, as the train screeched by above 
them. 


23 


24 


ICenelm’s Desire 


When, finally, they reached Wake Siah, before 
Desire could get a clear idea of the pretty town, 
she found herself in the midst of such a kissing 
and hand-shaking, such a clamor of high-pitched 
voices resembling Lydia’s, that she was quite 
dazed and altogether forgot the landscape. 

Two tall girls had come to the station to meet 
them. One, of sixteen, the whitest girl Desire 
had ever seen, towered two inches above Lydia, 
to whom she bore a softened resemblance. 

Her figure was delicately full, her hair pale 
brown, her eyes large and blue, and her skin like 
some etherealized, satin-finished kid; translu- 
cently white, with a noticeable lack of color in 
lips and cheeks. Slim hands and beautifully 
rounded arms gave to her, as similar features gave 
to Lydia, a certain air of distinction; empha- 
sized by the peculiar grace of her every attitude 
and a characteristic elegance in the carriage of 
her well-set head. This was Althea. 

Jessie, the younger, was more strongly but more 
irregularly handsome; a rich brunette with ripe 
red lips, parting easily over glittering white teeth 
which resembled in shape and lustre those of 
Althea and her Aunt Lydia. When they showed, 
two deep dimples peeped out on either side of 
them. 

‘‘Hello, girls,” was Lydia’s salutation, blurred 
by the osculatory demonstrations. “This is De- 
sire Llewellyn — Morgan’s cousin I wrote you 


Desire Meets Lydia’s Mother 25 

about. Desire, this is my niece, Althea Heneker, 
the prettiest girl in Wake Siah; and this is Jessie, 
who is going to be the prettiest girl when Allie 
gets out of the way — eh, Jessie?” 

‘‘Now Aunt Lydia!” protested Jessie with a 
pert toss of her head. “As if I ain’t every bit as 
good-looking as Allie, any day. Don’t you say 
so, Desire?” 

She did not seem to expect a reply to this 
embarrassingly personal question. Instead, she 
good-heartedly insisted on loading herself with 
Desire’s hand-luggage and overseeing the proper 
stowage of trunks in the carrier’s wagon, while 
Althea made successful love to baby Elbridge, and 
Lydia renewed acquaintance with one or two 
station agents and lookers-on at the domestic 
reunion. 

“How are father and mother?” Lydia asked, 
when they had started on the short walk home- 
ward, “and Amelia?” 

“Gran’pa’s out at the Pilot Station,” Althea 
explained, “so he couldn’t come. Gran’ma is 
seeing after dinner, or letting on she is, and ma 
had to tend store; but she’ll be around as soon 
as I get back to take her place.” 

Up hill they went; over and down again, the 
bay now spread out full before them, dimpling 
in the sunshine. Ever3rwhere were white sails 
and dancing small boats, except near the long, 
high trestles of the loading wharves, which run 


26 


Kenelm's Desire 


out to the right of the town front, as though to 
meet the wharves extending townward from an 
island not over a mile away. 

Having reached the corner of a prettily shaded 
street they turned in at the gate of a large yard 
containing a jungle of fruit trees, raspberry bushes, 
ferns, red poppies, blue bachelor-buttons and, at 
the extreme back, a long, low cottage with a veranda. 

They filed up the arbored walk, brushing 
against slender-stemmed grass heads just fluffing 
into bloom, and mounted the steps of the vine- 
wreathed veranda. A shrill, light scream of de- 
light sounded inside the darkened entry of the 
house, and Lydia’s mother rushed out, to cast 
herself into her daughter’s readily opening arms. 

Lydia’s mother — whom Desire did not at first 
recognize as such; for Lydia’s mother was a full- 
blood Thlingkeet Indian! 

After the first start of dismay Desire’s heart 
went out to the frail, dark, emotional woman, 
sobbing with joy upon her daughter’s breast. An 
Indian, truly, but with none of the putative In- 
dian stolidity. 

A moment of tears and glad exclamations went 
by, then Lydia’s mother, Mrs. Peden, turned, all 
gracious dignity, to Desire, whom Lydia intro- 
duced with some formality. 

‘‘How do you do? I beed you welcome,” Mrs. 
Peden said, extending a slim brown hand; the 
fingers of which, as well as the slender wrists, 


Desire Meets Lydians Mother 27 

were loaded with carved silver rings of Indian 
workmanship. Otherwise she was dressed simply, 
in a neat calico wrapper, fitted closely to her 
snugly corseted figure. 

While Lydia and Elbridge slept, after the 
one o’clock dinner, Desire spent her time with 
Gran’ma Peden and Auntie Mel, as the girls 
insisted on her calling Mrs. Peden and her 
widowed elder daughter, Mrs. Amelia Heneker. 
For Mrs. Heneker, tired of waiting to be relieved 
by her daughters, had quietly turned the key in 
the door of the little candy-and-thread shop, in 
the rear of which she lived, and had joined the 
family conclave at her mother’s. 

Auntie Mel was larger than Lydia, more ma- 
tronly, with a heavier skin, like Jess. Yet her 
eyes were blue-gray and her hair a light brown. 
Odd as it may seem, neither daughters nor grand- 
children had inherited the Indian profile or color- 
ing. Mrs. Heneker’ s cheek-bones were a trifle 
high, it is true, and Lydia had the long, narrow, 
brown, Indian eyes, but not so dark as Jessie’s. 
At times her trick of looking askance called up a 
sudden, quick-vanishing race expression which 
Desire, later, learned to recognize. 

At such moments the race resemblance would 
be so strong that it seemed impossible it could 
ever be overlooked, and among those accustomed 
to Indians and knowing Lydia’s ancestry, it was 
not overlooked; to her secret or expressed rage. 


28 


Kenelm’s Desire 


But persons unlearned in ethnic distinctions would 
hardly be conscious of more than a certain not 
altogether safe piquancy in the woman’s manner 
of using her undeniably effective eyes. 

Gran’ma Peden, not at all old, in the face of 
her sixty-odd years, responded immediately to 
Desire’s openly expressed admiration by admira- 
tion in kind; which soon, on both sides, merged 
into the tenderest affection. 

The coarseness apparent in her offspring came, 
as Desire had divined, from the father. The 
delicate hands, niceties of manner, dignity of 
carriage and marks of mental refinement came 
from the mother. 

In her they were always prettily apparent, mak- 
ing up for the gentle flattening of face and low 
slope of brow which in her white descendants 
would have been counted as defects. 

^^How did Lydia ever persuade you to come up 
to this God-forsaken country, anyhow. Desire?” 
Althea asked, when they had all gathered in a 
group on the veranda. This veranda was the 
family sitting-room in good weather. It com- 
manded a fine, near view of the harbor, well to 
one side'of the wharves and shipping. A block 
nearer than the water’s edge, and but a block 
away, ran, or languidly ambled, the one business 
thoroughfare. 

Sitting on the veranda one could watch, like 
the Lady of Shalott, the provincial little world go 


Desire Meets Lydia’s Mother 29 

by. Better yet, one could note the stately ships 
a-sailing across a background of green islets; or, 
through the Gap, between Aberdeen and Friend- 
ship islands, see the wild sweep of the great main- 
land Olympian range against a sky somewhat 
distant and delicately tinted, to a California 
trained vision. 

^^How can you call it that!” Desire cried. 
‘^It is the most beautiful country in the world. 
Much more picturesque than California. I am 
so glad I came.” 

^‘Oh, well, it’s pretty enough, and that!” Al- 
thea replied in contemptuous acquiescence, wrink- 
ling up her pretty face fantastically; a habit 
already beginning to line the delicate skin around 
her violet eyes. ^^But you can’t have any fun 
here. Give me ’Frisco, any day. There’s lots of 
nice fellows in ’Frisco, and theatres, and that. 
Some place to go to. Oh, it’s just horrid here! 
You’d hate it, too, if you had to live here.” 

'^Allie’s always talking about ’Frisco since the 
time she was there visiting Aunt Lydia,” inter- 
polated Jess. Nothing’s good enough for her 
here, any more.” 

Allie contemplated her pretty hands, glittering 
delicately with many small jewels. ‘^It’s lots of 
fun to live in ’Frisco,” she sighed, ^'you bet!” 

Desire did not fancy Althea, in spite of her 
beauty. The provincial vernacular, in Lydia 
much toned down, jarred more harshly from her 


30 


Kenelm’s Desire 


daintily tinted niece. Althea lacked, too, the 
suavity of voice and manner 'which Lydia readily 
assumed upon occasion. 

Allie, she has too many of the beaux,’’ laughed 
gran’ma, 'with innocent pride. “Nobody is good 
enough — eh, Allie ? ” 

“Well, Aide’s just right about it,” chimed in 
Auntie Mel. “Who is there here for her to look 
at ? It’s just as I say. Here I’ve brought up my 
girls to be ladies, and accomplished them and all; 
did I do that just to make common miners’ 'wives 
out of them? Not much I didn’t.” 

“Yes, Allie has lots of the beaux,” gran’ma re- 
iterated, “and some day Jess will have the beaux, 
too. That will be funny. Mellie and Lydia 
had so many the beaux when they was girls.” 

“Well, we came by it natural, mother,” cried 
Lydia ;“ you had lots of them yourself, according 
to pa’s tell.” 

Mrs. Peden bridled gently. 

“Yes, plenty big chief want to marry,” she said, 
reminiscently, “but how could I marry ? I must tek 
care of the nittly ” (little) “ children. So many nittly 
children my mother leave, and my father killed. 
I cannot marry no chief, and so many come.” 

“Mother, you know, is a chief,” Auntie Mel 
explained. “She was too young, and her uncle 
ruled for her. Then she married father and came 
away. When uncle died they sent for mother to 
come back.” 


Desire Meets Lydia’s Mother 


31 


“But how could I go?” broke in gran’ma. “I 
had my own nittly children then. So they sent 
to me the crown for my head. There was no 
one else of all my House to wear it. It was mine. 
And my brother’s baby boy they sent, and the 
silver things of my House. And now is no more 
tribe — no more my House — no more!” 

She threw up her hands, then pressed them, 
clasped, against her breast. Desire sat quiet, 
awed by this sudden storm of distress. 

“Tell about the time you met father. I know 
Desire would like to hear a real good Indian love 
story,” Auntie Mel said, divertingly. 

“Oh, indeed, indeed, yes!” pleaded Desire. 

Gran’ma tossed up her sybilline arms once 
more, but joyously. So quick were her emo- 
tional transitions that Desire, in the hours they 
spent together during that short summer visit, was 
often lost in her attempts to follow them; ham- 
pered as was their interpretation by the speaker’s 
broken English. 

The flexible hands and arms, the tragic or pathetic 
intoning of her voice, frequently told half her story. 

In grief, the brown fingers twisted and writhed 
about one another at arm’s length above her 
head. In moments of elation or amusement, 
hands, wrists and arms waved sinuously, palms 
outward, in front and to the side of her face. 
Plain narration was assisted by such gracious, 
equable undulations as were required to elucidate 


32 


Kenelm’s Desire 


the incidents of the tale. But whether in song, 
in story or in lament, the mobile hands and arms 
were seldom quiescent. 

“I wore that night my crown,” she began, 
rhythmically swaying as she spoke. ‘^My crown. 
It had the walrus bristles and the ermine ; because 
I was Chief, although my uncle ruled. Desire 
shall see the crown on my head, but I will not 
look like I did that night, when we danced and I 
sang the Song of my House. Here in the top is 
like a cup, and in that cup is feathers; white 
duck feathers — from the breast — you know — ” 
appealing to Auntie Mel. 

‘‘Eider-down,” prompted Auntie Mel. 

“Yes, the eider-down. And all the young girls 
on the floor to dance. The men, they sit round 
on the floor by the wall. We dance so long and 
so light, like the white bird over the waters. The 
other girls, they get tired and stop. But I dance 
— more — more — the white down come up from 
my crown, like a nittly white cloud hang over me. 
He was by the men, on the floor. He could see 
nobody but only me. When I dance, so, like the 
white bird over the waters, I look to Him. I 
throw up my arms, so! He tell me all he got in 
the world he want to put down on the ground 
for my feet — they so nittly feet — to dance upon. 
Yes, the first time he see me. I with my crown. 
And I dance like the white bird over the waters. 
It was — oh — ver’ long time ago.” 


Desire Meets Lydia’s Mother 


33 


^^Here comes Captain Ken!” Jess broke the 
ensuing silence. ‘'I thought he’d have to be 
along soon.” 

‘‘It’s time!” commented Lydia. “I must say 
I don’t think he has been in any hurry to wel- 
come me. But Kennie never did like me as well 
as the rest of the boys.” 

“When Kennie was a nittly boy, Lydia!” re- 
monstrated gran’ma. 

“Oh, yes. He used to stick to my skirts like 
a bur, in those days,” Lydia conceded with a 
harsh laugh, as she rose to greet Kenelm Fraser, 
now mounting the steps. 

Saturated with the Native atmosphere, Desire 
could barely feel surprise when the lifted hat 
of the well-garbed young man in light tweeds 
disclosed another Indian countenance as charac- 
teristically Alaskan as that of gran’ma Peden 
herself. 

Desire’s attention soon reverted to gran’ma, 
who began to remove her silver bracelets one by 
one for her guest’s inspection. An especially 
beautiful narrow circlet represented on the one 
tip a crow’s head, on the other its claw. 

“My House is the Crow,” gran’ma explained. 
“Ver’ great House in my country. My crown a 
Crow crown, and a Crow my totem. Old men 
say. Crow made the world; so I think Crow the 
same as white people’s God. I don’t know. 
Crow good enough for Indian, I guess!” 


34 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Mother! You’ll shock Desire — scandalous!” 
cried Lydia, boisterously. ‘‘She’ll think we’re no 
better than heathens, just!” 

Desire smiled comprehendingly at gran’ma, 
holding up her wrist to contemplate the effect of 
the antique carving against its whiteness. 

“You have the bracelet, it is for you,” gran’ma 
said, putting out her hands to ward off its return. 

“No, indeed, I can’t take it,” Desire protested 
heroically. “It is too old and valuable. Thank 
you, but I really can’t.” 

“Keep it,” Auntie Mel cried; “it means that 
mother has taken a fancy to you. She adopts you 
into her clan. She has the other one of the pair.” 

Desire bent over to throw her arms around 
gran’ma’s neck. “I’ll wear it all the time,” she 
said, kissing both gran’ma’s brown cheeks in 
succession. “Now I’m a Crow, too.” 

They all laughed, and Althea pretended to 
pout. “You mustn’t cut me out with gran’ma,” 
she expostulated. 

“Kennie, what are you going to do to enter- 
tain Desire, now I’ve brought her all this way to 
see you?” Lydia demanded, rescuing Elbridge, 
ecstatically going through a mill with this new 
pugilist, who did not look like papa, but who 
could double up his fists and punch past Elly’s 
tiny guard to the full as delightfully. 

“I am entirely at Miss Llewellyn’s service, 
afternoons and evenings. Just now I’m pretend- 


Desire Meets Lydia’s Mother 


35 


ing to be busy in the mornings,” Kenelm an- 
swered, coming over to their side of the steps, on 
the top one of which he dropped down, close to 
Desire’s camp-chair. Shall we go for a walk 
to the Falls, after tea, or out in the canoe?” 

‘^The canoe, by all means! May I?” to Lydia. 
‘‘I never was in a canoe.” 

“Lord, yes!” assented Lydia. “There’s no 
strings on you, here.” 

“Is it a birch-bark canoe?” Desire asked, 
diffidently, of Kenelm. 

“No, it’s a fox-head; that is, it’s a dugout. 
There is no birch in this country. This one is 
made of a fir trunk, burned and dug into shape. 
Say ! She’s a good one to ride the waves — eh, 
Allie?” 

“Search me! — I never was in her,” flouted 
Althea. “You don’t catch me risking my life in 
a canoe. Don’t go with him. Desire, he just 
wants someone along to commit suicide with.” 

“Then I’ll go,” Desire announced delightedly. 

“Don’t do anything rash, Ken,” Lydia cau- 
tioned. “I’ve got to deliver Desire back in as 
good condition as I brought her, or there’s no 
going home to ’Frisco for this child.” 

Mrs Heneker and the girls arose. 

“You must come and see me, cousin Desire,” 
Althea said; “I won’t call again until you do. 
We can go walking, when Ken isn’t around; and 
when you’re at our house I’ll treat you awful 


36 


Kenelm’s Desire 


good. I’ll play for you and show you my pic- 
tures and invite down some awful jolly boys.” 

“I’ll come — if I survive the canoe,” Desire 
replied. They all laughed in chorus — the family 
were easy laughers — and trooped away together, 
leaving Desire to a quiet hour on the veranda, 
while mother and daughter went inside to unpack 
Lydia’s trunks and to exchange confidences until 
time for early tea. 

Desire was glad of the opportunity to think and 
to write to Little Mother; an innocent, enthusi- 
astic letter which, two weeks later, was followed 
by a disastrous consequence: an authoritative, 
though courteous, command to return home at 
once. Of that, however, just now Desire had not 
the faintest premonition. 

To Mrs. Llewellyn, Desire was still a preco- 
cious child; her skirts yet at ankle length; her 
mind and heart absorbed in music. The one. 
problem she had ever presented was that of being 
distracted from too earnest application to her art. 
To associate her with love affairs or even with 
special attention from any one of the many men 
she met in her musical work, had been singularly 
far away from the imagination of either mother or 
daughter. 

Frau Eda, it is true, had hesitated long about the 
British Columbia outing, on account of their 
slight knowledge of Lydia’s early life. But by 
summer the second year of Lydia’s residence 


Desire Meets Lydia’s Mother 


37 


among them had drawn to a close. Nothing 
objectionable had developed. Young Mrs. Llew- 
ellyn had proved a good wife and mother, accord- 
ing to her lights, and the family had grown 
accustomed to her bluff ness. Frau Eda was out- 
reasoned on every side. Most conclusive. Desire 
had grown thinner and more nervous with each 
successive spring day. 

Unable to accompany Desire, for business rea- 
sons and in view of their contemplated year in 
Europe, which they hoped to accomplish the 
coming winter, Frau Eda, with many misgivings 
finally entrusted her daughter to Morgan’s wife 
for the summer ; among these misgivings, strangely 
enough, the obvious one regarding the always 
imminent young man had found no place. 

“This evening,” Desire wrote, “I am to go out 
in Kenelm’s canoe, after tea. He is the youngest 
son of grandma’s youngest brother, who died before 
Ken was born. When they sent the crown, they 
sent the baby boy. Grandma was sick when he 
came, so a younger sister, Mrs. Fraser, whom I have 
not yet met, adopted him legally. They all say he 
is very bright, and are proud of him, I can see. 

“I knew all this before, except the Indian part. 
What a funny, secretive person Lydia is! Why 
in the world didn’t she tell us? But then, I 
shouldn’t have come North, so I’m a wee bit glad 
she did not. If it gets too much for me I’ll come 
home. But I don’t believe it will.” 


38 


Kenelm^s Desire 


After tea she was less of the opinion that it 
would. 

Kneeling in the bow of the dugout, her first 
swish of the paddle through the still water wrought 
an enchantment which endured for the rest of her 
days; so far, at least, as her days have yet been 
measured out. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE islands’ welcome 

F irst they paddled down a quiet reach in 
front of the Triangle, where Kenelm had 
made his first public speech some evenings 
before, past the provincial buildings and the gray 
stone Custom House, arranged, like the handsome 
granite postoffice, as a residence for the official in 
charge. 

Mr. Duncan Fraser, Kenelm’s adopted father, 
lived in the Custom House with his wife and big 
family of sons, much as a feudal lord might have 
lived in an ancestral castle. For thirty years the 
stout Scotchman had been Chief of Customs at 
Wake Siah, until the office had become so amal- 
gamated with the man that to imagine any other 
person in the stone house by the water’s edge 
would have seemed treason toward Chief Fraser; 
the Chief, as he was familiarly called throughout 
the length and breadth of the island. 

‘^Tomorrow I’ll take you to see my mother,” 
Kenelm remarked, laying aside his paddle to send 
a resounding call, made in some mysterious man- 
ner by blowing through his clasped hands, which 


39 


40 


Kenelm’s Desire 


he shut at intervals to form a succession of shrill 
toots, understood and responded to from the un- 
roofed upper veranda of the Custom House. 

A small woman arose from her hammock to 
give the return call, as the canoe rounded away 
toward Aberdeen Island where camp-fires already 
glowed on the beach. 

‘‘That’s my mother,” Kenelm said; adding 
softly, “rather, my aunt; but I don’t realize it. 
Now you are tired. Yes, you are, although you 
may not know it. You mustn’t paddle any more 
to-night if you expect to paddle to-morrow. ” 

He stepped securely along the 'middle of the 
tippy craft, arranged turkey-red cushions on the 
floor and a small board against the bow cross- 
piece to form a back. Desire submitted to being 
turned around and settled deftly into comfort. 
She did not dare resist, so alarmingly did the 
canoe rock at every deep breath she drew, or so she 
protested. She felt genuinely relieved when she 
found herself at last stowed snugly on the well- 
cushioned bottom, with no responsibility further 
than to keep a physical equilibrium in the exact 
centre line of their cranky excuse for a vessel. 

“Did I say that I used your verses about 
Sheewin’s Trail?” Desire asked when he had 
resumed his post in the stern, where he faced her, 
his back to the sunset, his kneeling figure in black 
relief against the gorgeous pink sky and deeper 
pink water. 


The Islands^ Welcome 41 

He might not be a handsome man; was not, 
in fact, with his somewhat flattened features and 
dull brown skin; but he was indubitably pictur- 
esque in that brilliantly wild setting. She gazed 
at him, much as she might have contemplated a 
picture; yet with a feeling that it might be em- 
barrassing to be so pronounced an object of 
interest. 

Neither recognized that an unconventionally 
long time had elapsed between question and an- 
swer. Unconsciously to herself she, too, was 
gratifying to look upon, facing the sunset, her 
bare head shining in its ruddy light, her clear, 
large eyes turned full upon her companion. 

“Yes, they are dark hazel,’’ Kenelm was noting, 
in momentary perplexity because of the shadows 
cast by their long brown lashes. “But her hair is 
like the sun on the blade of the paddle.” 

He held up the wet yellow blade for compari- 
son. The sun dropped, the next minute; the 
gleam went off the paddle, while yet it lingered 
in the shining waves of her breeze-loosened hair. 

“I knew about it. Lydia sent me her copy; 
thank you,” at length he replied. 

“No — thank you. The music wasn’t much, 
but it was the first thing I ever had published, 
so I felt quite conceited about it.” 

“I should think you might. It’s the first thing 
I ever had published, too, and like to be the last. 
The music is the making of it.” 


42 


Kenelm’s Desire 


‘‘I don’t think so, but we shan’t quarrel,” she 
conceded, laughing. ‘‘I wish you would write me 
some more.” 

“I wish I could, but I doubt it.” 

‘‘Oh, you could, I’m sure.” 

“Well,” he yielded, smiling, “perhaps I might 
do as well as that again, without straining my 
rigging, if I were not so indolent.” 

“Indolent! You ought to have heard them 
talk about you at tea. I don’t believe that.” 

First he looked abashed, then drew down his 
upper lip to smooth out a smile, which caused 
the treacherous dimples to laugh merrily from 
either cheek. 

“Say! It’s a great trick, making folks believe 
you are energetic, to hide your laziness,” he said, 
with a mischievous side-glance which provoked 
her to open laughter. 

“But they said you won the Victoria medal on 
mathematics.” 

This time he, too, laughed outright. 

“There! I’ll tell you all about that!” he cried, 
his intrinsic boyishness cropping out for the first 
time in her presence. “I was the idlest chap in 
school you ever saw. Any of my mates will tell 
you that, especially in written subjects. I never 
could stand the drudgery of the pencil. But I 
always liked mathematics, they are so simple.” 

Desire stretched wide her eyes and spread out 
her hands in negation. He stopped to laugh at 
her, then went on. 


The Islands' Welcome 


43 


‘^Yes, they are; just nothing but plain, solid 
truths. You can't go wrong if you once get hold 
of them. So, during the geometry recitations I 
used to put my hands in my pockets to keep them 
out of mischief, lean back and take it all in; the 
demonstrations, I mean. Then, after school, the 
boys were glad enough to get around and do my 
problems for me." 

‘‘But I don't see how that sort of thing got you 
the medal," Desire commented doubtfully. 

“Why, yes. I thought the thing out for them, 
and dictated. They did all the drudgery for both 
of us. Up to the examination I had never so 
much as written out a theorem on paper. But 
give me time enough and I can always do any- 
thing in mathematics, as far as I have gone. So 
I got the medal. I was ashamed enough about 
it, too. Do you see that red-haired girl sitting 
on the log beside the camp-fire?" 

He pointed to a firelit circle of campers on a 
spur of island they were passing. 

“She had worked like a beaver all winter, just 
for that medal. Oh, say! it was shockin' for me 
to cut in the way I did. I hadn't the slightest 
intention of doing it; but somehow, once started, 
I got interested. I was just as sorry as she was, 
afterward, and she cried for a week. But she 
forgave me." 

He shipped his paddle, put his hand to his 
mouth and gave his call. 


44 


Kenelm’s Desire 


^‘There’s Captain Ken!’’ a young lad shouted 
shrilly, and attempted to return the salute; to the 
large hilarity of the crowd around the fire, and 
to his own no small discomposure. 

“Hark! Katie’s going to sing,” Kenelm said, 
paddling intermittently to keep just within the 
dusky edge of the brilliant reflection cast by the 
camp-fire on the water. 

Auburn-haired Katie’s full, untrained contralto 
voice rolled out to them, mellowly, across the 
water. 

“Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves; 

Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.” 

Desire was brought to her senses by a difficult 
reading of her watch. 

“Oh — we must go straight home!” she cried 
in a panic. “What will they think of me? I’m 
not used to such long twilights. I didn’t dream 
it could be so late.” 

“They won’t mind. They know you’re safe 
with me,” he assured her, plunging into instant 
darkness by a quick turn of the paddle, which 
shot them into a narrow, sinuous tunnel beneath 
the sandstone bluff; waterworn, accessible only 
at certain stages of the tide, and known to few 
besides Kenelm. 

Desire uttered a smothered scream of dismay, 
merging into delight. Faintly glimmering in the 
dense blackness of the winding passage, shone a 
carpet of silvery phosphorescence, curving with 


The Islands’ Welcome 


45 


the outline of the boat and rippling gently to 
the dip of the paddle. Below this gleaming sur- 
face they could see two or three feet down the 
vertical walls of the channel, where the smooth 
rock was illumined by an almost unbroken tapes- 
try of light. 

Neither spoke until they had emerged into the 
starlight. 

“I thought you would like it,” Kenelm said, 
gratified. 

Desire sat dreamily silent, drinking in the sensu- 
ous beauty of the still, landlocked bay into which 
they had drifted, steered by periodic, unseen, 
noiseless dips of Kenelm’s paddle. 

Opposite the middle of the curvature, on their 
way out, Kenelm called sonorously: “Wei,” 
came back a remarkably distinct echo, 
pat upon his call, “come,” “to,” “/o,” 

“Wake Siah!” ^^Wake Siahr 

“Welcome to Wake Siah!” 

Welcome to Wake SiahP^ 

“The islands bid you welcome,” Kenelm said, 
turning the prow toward home. 


CHAPTER V 


THE RECALL 

‘ ‘ X^O-oo — pitty — pitty — ow-w-w-w! ” 

1^1 Elbridge’s coo of delight developed into 
a howl of rage when Lydia bore down on 
her son as he stepped out on the veranda one 
showery day, tugging a big, glittering, waving 
something in his arms ; at the same time tumbling 
a long, soft, white-and-black train on the floor 
behind him. 

‘^My goodness!” cried Lydia, with sudden re- 
vulsion of purpose. Don’t he make a picture. 
Desire?” 

Desire thought he did, knelt down on the spot 
to kiss him, and went into a rapture over the 
ermine mantle huddled around the baby feet, 
while his fat arms tightly hugged a great wooden 
coronet and his shrewd, tear-besprinkled face 
peered dubiously through the upright, wavy 
fringe of snow-white walrus bristles bordering 
the top of the crown. 

Gran’ma joined them, her brown face alight 
with emotion. 


46 


The Recall 


47 


‘^Oh, the nittly white chief!'’ taking the crown 
with gentle force to hold it lightly on the little 
one's yellow locks. “Never on no white people's 
head before. One hunderd big chiefs wear this 
crown. White people never before; just my 
nittly white chief." 

She laughed and cried in a breath; proudly 
raising herself, she placed the emblem of sov- 
ereignty above her own wrinkled brow. 

She looked truly a queen, in Desire's eyes, 
which had never before rested on royalty; al- 
though here its token was composed for the most 
part of wood. 

In the centre of the dark wooden circlet, in 
front, was cut a large bird's head; a crow, they 
named it, but it was larger and fiercer, more like 
an eagle. 

The eyes and beak of the rough but effective 
carving were inlaid bits of iridescent green aba- 
lone shell, fastened in place by the use of pine gum. 
Abalone shell also decorated the talons, protrud- 
ing on either side of the beak from an arrange- 
ment of carved wood feathers. 

A queer, fierce bit of finery it must have looked, 
in the flickering light of the crude, whale-blubber 
lamps, that night when the maiden chief danced 
beneath its weight, lightly as the white bird over 
the waters. 

Its top, within the high circlet of walrus “whis- 
kers," was concave like a saucer, to hold the loose 


48 


Kenelm’s Desire. 


eider-down ; and from the back and sides depended 
the wide ermine robe or veil, which reached well 
down to gran’ma’s knees; a piece of exquisite 
quality and preservation. 

‘^In those days,” said gran’ma, tossing up her 
arms, ‘‘I sing all the songs of my House. Every 
House have one Song made for it, with eight songs 
in. When anybody make the new house, he make 
it all the outside first, good and strong. Then he 
have a big supper, everybody come. At night 
the people of the house take the fat, they rub it 
all on the big beams inside, they rub it all in the 
corners, where they come together. Everywhere 
they rub that oil, so the new wood shine so bright. 
Then the man who build that house, maybe his 
wife, maybe his daughter, sing the Song of that 
House. Everybody sit to listen. If he sing it 
right, not one mistake, that is good luck to that 
house. If mistake, everybody hear and say, ‘ bad 
luck to that house.’ 

‘‘I sing that Song of my House. The walrus 
bristles go in the wind when I dance, the nittly 
cloud come all white from the top to hang above 
me, I make no mistake. But bad luck come to 
my House. So many people die. Nobody but 
me to sing that Song of my House. When I die, 
nobody to sing that Song.” 

‘^Are none of your people left, up North?” 

‘‘Yes, plenty people left, but,” with polite scorn, 
“they know nothing about Indian. All these 


The Recall 


49 


songs not in any book. Just wise old men and 
old women tell to others. Now the Indian chil- 
dren go to school to white teachers. These 
teachers cannot tell those Indian stories. They 
say, ‘Do not listen to those Indian stories. They 
not true. All imagine. Listen to Bible stories.’ 
The Indian children are shamed of those old 
stories, the stories of their houses since the Flood. 
My nieces and nephews live in that land where 
their grandfather was biggest chief. They not 
know those stories.” 

She began a wild, melancholy air, broken by 
unexpected k’s and t’s, broadened unbearably in 
places by strange, unfamiliar vowels. Her eyes 
became fixed upwards while her body, arms and 
head swayed in barbaric rhythm with the aged 
trembling of what had undoubtedly once been a 
voice of excellent quality. Minutes passed un- 
heeded; the chant surged louder, ebbed and rose 
again with the passion of the singer; its harshness 
tempered by occasional soft swirls of summer rain 
against the roof and leaf-walls of the veranda. 

The gate clicked unnoticed; heavy feet came 
trampling up the sloppy gravel path. A rubi- 
cund, blue-eyed, abundantly bewhiskered counte- 
nance loomed suddenly on the steps. 

“Hello, old lady!” Captain Peden, the new- 
comer, shouted in burly surprise. “It’s many 
the long year since I saw you in that rig-out. 
Give us a buss for old sake’s sake.” 


Kenelm’s Desire 


SO 

But gran’ma, her song half finished, had fled 
into the house, and Lydia proffered the hearty 
caress in her mother’s stead. 

^^Well, father, I’ve brought my boy home to 
show him off,” she cried, lifting Elly up to be 
kissed; an opportunity Elbridge improved by 
making vigorous clutches at the twinkling gold 
rings in his grandfather’s ears. 

‘‘Ho!” Captain Peden cried, delightedly, “a 
brave lad and a hearty. He’ll soon be too much 
for his old gran’dad to handle.” 

Desire, a trifle shy, was presented. Captain 
Peden, remembering his manners, saluted her, 
hat in hand, with gravity. 

“lam fair glad to see you,” he said elaborately, 
“and I’m main sorry you’ve had such a streak of 
weather for your visit.” 

“How is it on the bay?” Lydia asked. 

“Naughty weather, daughter, right naughty 
weather,” her father replied sententiously. “The 
tide-rip out by Lizard Island’s bad, and it’s going 
to be worse. I knew them mare’s tails over 
Friendship last evening meant change of wind. 
So I haven’t long to stay, darlings,” as his wife, 
divested of regalia, reappeared. “Fix me up 
something hearty, for I must be off again.” 

After the old pilot had rolled into the house 
Desire sat alone on the porch, dreamily watching 
the bedraggled passers in the street below. It was 
about Kenelm’s time for putting in an appear- 


The Recall 


51 

ance; usually the prelude to a walk or a paddle 
in the dugout. 

He was not long coming into view; not alone, 
to-day. Althea, to whom he was talking earn- 
estly, walked beside him. Both appeared sullen. 

‘‘Well, cousin Desire, this shows how much I 
love you,’’ Althea cried on reaching the porch, 
“coming out in all this rain. But I had Kennie 
along, so of course I was happy. You can walk 
back with me, if you want to show your grit. I 
came to get gran’ma’s dress for Jess to finish, 
seein’ it’s too wet to go anywheres. Do come 
along and keep Kennie good-natured. He wasn’t 
doin’ a thing but chew the rag all the way down.” 

“What about?” Desire asked, later, as they 
turned out at the gate. Kenelm cast a warning 
glance at Althea. 

“Oh, just nothing much. He thinks I’ve got 
too many beaux. Goodness me! I can’t help it. 
I don’t run after the fellows. They needn’t to 
come if they don’t want to. What’s a girl to do, 
anyway? That’s what I’d like to know.” 

Kenelm, thus indirectly appealed to, merely 
raised his hat in greeting to a pale, thin, firmly 
benevolent little lady they were about to pass. 
Allie stopped short, all smiles, which were but 
faintly reciprocated. 

“Mrs. Milner,” she said detainingly, “let me 
introduce my cousin. Miss Llewellyn, from 
’Frisco.” 


52 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Mrs. Milner said, “ Good ahfternoon,’’and stood, 
half turned, with the air of waiting to hear what 
was required of her. 

‘^We took Miss Llewellyn to hear Mr. Milner 
preach, last Sunday,” Althea went on deter-’ 
minedly. She’s a good Episcopalian, too.” 

Indeed?” the rector’s wife commented, pa- 
tiently. No further conversational matter pre- 
senting itself to either side, the rector’s lady 
made the first move and they separated. 

Desire looked sidelong at Althea, who wore a 
determined smile; then at Kenelm, whose face 
was altogether impassive. 

She’s a funny woman,” Althea said, as they 
walked on. “ Got lots of money and all. She and 
Mr. Milner look on themselves as missionaries 
come out here to convert us savages, I guess. I 
bet she has a giddy time of it before she’s been 
amongst us many years. Say! It’s all in a life- 
time. We get more fun out of her than she does 
out of us, you bet!” 

Desire felt uncomfortable. With the flight of 
each day of the two weeks since her arrival, she 
had realized more fully that the social conditions 
of this heretofore unheard-of nook of Christendom 
were as complicated as in the larger communities 
to which she had been accustomed; also, that 
social restrictions are more embarrassing in a 
small town than in a large city. Or was it, that 
up to this time she had always been on the right 
side of the social line? 


The Recall 


S3 


“You mustn’t mind Mrs. Milner,” Kenelm 
said after they had parted from Althea at the 
doorstep; “it’s her manner; and I may as well 
tell you, she doesn’t care for Althea.” 

“That’s no reason for treating me like that!” 
Desire replied, suddenly discovering that she was 
intolerably angry over the rector’s lady’s super- 
ciliousness and evident wish to be rid of their 
society. “We are not peasants; and if we were, 
a clergyman’s wife should treat us with an out- 
ward show of cordiality, as a part of her pro- 
fession. Especially, too, when Mr. Milner was 
so nice the day he called.” 

“Yes, Mr. Milner is always nice,” Kenelm 
admitted, “and Mrs. Milner is nice, too, when 
you know her. Mother likes her. She patro- 
nizes mother a bit, but that’s her way with every- 
body.” 

They walked a few steps in silence. 

“You know why we can’t expect just the same 
treatment as other people!” he burst out. Desire 
stopped in surprise and sheer distress. 

“But I thought it didn’t matter,” she said. 
“See how everybody treats you.” 

“Yes, you see I went to school with all the boys, 
and we always got on. The girls were good to 
me, too. And they are now, for that matter. I 
have no complaints to make about the way I am 
treated. But I never build on it. I don’t want 
anyone to feel it her duty to show me my place. 


54 


Kenelm^s Desire 


so I keep clear of women-folks. They are always 
the cruelest/’ he said, with precocity of insight. 

^^But if no one ever did — that — how do you 
know they would?” 

‘‘IVe seen it tried on others. On men with 
half-white blood, too. I don’t want any of it. 
I don’t expect social recognition,” a shade of 
youthful bitterness stole into his voice just here. 
‘‘I’m not formed for society, anyway.” Then 
brightening, as he was sure to do when near 
Desire, “Give me the canoe or the old mountain 
top and I’m satisfied; especially if the right per- 
son’s along,” with a side-glance at Desire that 
she caught, responding by a fluttering laugh in 
which evaporated the last tiny fume of her irri- 
tated self-esteem. 

The next afternoon Kenelm and Desire set out 
in the canoe shortly after three, at the full, flat 
period before the downward turn of the tide. 

A faint breeze blew with them, hardly enough 
to ruffle the oily surface of the water, but quite 
sufficient to fill their tiny sail; which Desire 
proudly slanted, under instruction, to shape their 
placid course. Kenelm knelt, as usual, in the 
stern, to correct by timely dips of his paddle 
whatever might prove erratic in the tactics of the 
unaccustomed sailing master. 

The sun shone full in Desire’s face, so her eyes 
must perforce be hidden beneath the peak of her cap, 
drawn tightly down to meet the bridge of her nose. 


The Recall 


SS 


Kenelm, unafraid, could watch every motion of 
her slim kneeling form, swaying to this side and to 
that in her attempts to shift the wilful bit of sail- 
cloth; unabashed, could feast his beauty-loving 
eyes on the flaunting brightness of her hair. 

In after months and years she came often thus 
into his dreams, glowing like a sun upon the 
misty firmament of sleepland. Rarely the dream- 
girl would raise her visor; always the sweet shock 
of her glance awoke him — to press his hands 
against his eyes in mute and tearless agony. 

Two hours later, on the down-river return, the 
sail dispensed with and Desire at the stern pad- 
dle, what delight to feel the sensitive boat turn, 
retard, shoot forward or stop at every twist of 
her will, transmitted through the medium of her 
supple wrist! 

They found themselves sliding down the first 
rapids (around which they had made a portage, 
going up) before she realized they could possibly 
be in sight. 

“Steady!” Kenelm admonished. “Paddle on 
the left. Steer to the right — to the right! — to 
the right! 

The long bow swung around precisely in time 
to escape a group of granite rocks, nosing a bare 
inch above the seething water. 

“Out!” he cried, the next minute, triumph- 
antly. “That was great. I said you could do 
anything you tried.” 


Kenelm^s Desire 


56 


Desire laughed nervously. ‘^We came awfully 
near those rocks.’’ 

‘^Couldn’t have made a cleaner miss. Are you 
tired?” for she looked subdued. 

‘‘No indeed!” clutching her paddle apprehen- 
sively. “I’m thinking about the lower rapids.” 

“Don’t think until you get there. They are 
steeper, but the mid-channel is clear. Keep ex- 
actly in the middle, of the current and you can’t 
come to grief — you won’t have time.” 

Before he had finished speaking the boat had 
begun to slide. Just below the sand-bar the 
remainder of their party were drawn up in two 
rowboats to watch their descent. 

Lydia shrieked something that Desire could not 
hear. 

Heavens — what a slide I The canoe seemed 
slipping from under their knees as they fled 
downward with the fleeing waters. 

“Mid-channel!” warned Kenelm in a repressed 
voice as the canoe swerved toward an eddy of no 
mean size and swiftness; then he sat motionless 
for one tense moment, bent forward in readiness 
to seize Desire should their craft capsize. 

For Desire, her wrist not equal to the reverse 
stroke in such a current, had coolly swung the 
paddle overhead and plunged it in on the opposite 
side; while the boat, in that short space of time, 
swept in a perilous circle to the right. But, the 
paddle once in, the eddy, with a long, fierce hiss 


The Recall 


57 


against the stoutly held blade, relinquished its 
grip; the prow swerved once more into mid- 
stream; at the end of a last wild lunge that reft 
the breath from their parted lips and distended 
nostrils, they found themselves among the row- 
boats. 

“I yelled to you about that eddy!’’ Lydia 
called angrily to Kenelm. “What possessed you 
to let Desire do it?” 

Kenelm stared haughtily at Lydia and her 
boat-companion, young McLeod, of the curly 
brown hair, the full red lips which drooped 
slightly at the corners, and the languishing eyes, 
which dwelt a thought too openly on the mature 
charms of Lydia’s coquettish person. 

He sank into taciturnity, soon losing conscious- 
ness even of Lydia’s peccadilloes in the thought 
he could no longer hold in abeyance: that Desire 
must go South on the next steamer. The letter 
of recall from Frau Eda had reached them that 
morning, unexpectedly. 

Going home, Kenelm chose a different mouth 
of exit from the river; leading over dangerous 
shallows, barely navigable to a skillful canoer 
in the lightest of all light crafts. It brought 
them sooner into the broad expanse of the bay, 
waveless and radiant, like whitely burnished 
metal. 

“Shall I never see you again?” he asked, 
thickly. 


58 


Kenelm’s Desire 


^^Why, yes, of course you will,” Desire roused 
herself to reply, the utmost cheeriness in her 
cordial tones. “You are to come down to visit 
us. Then, you know, I’m coming back in a year 
or two.” 

Her thoughts dwelt, even now, on her home 
and the work awaiting her return. 

That, in effect, the separation had already be- 
gun, Kenelm was quick to divine. In one reveal- 
ing instant he saw her impossible remoteness from 
him and from his. 

He was privileged to call her “Desire,” to 
touch her hand, to direct the course of her daily 
occupations, to secure her companionship for 
blissful, consecutive hours; yet they did not so 
much as live in the same universe. 

He watched her, lying cosily in the bottom of 
his canoe, the moon lighting palely a half smile 
that touched the corners of her sensitive mouth. 
His pain came near to anger; she lay so softly 
unconscious of the love and despair smouldering 
within those few feet of her bright repose. 

Neglectfully, he had let their bark drift over 
upon the shoals; the weeds and low rushes with 
which the sea-bottom was covered brushed the 
sides of the canoe. Desire’s smile deepened as 
she put out her hand to the caress of the dripping 
salt verdure. 

“You mustn’t run us aground,” she said, her 
tone full of confidence. 


The Recall 


S9 


“No,” Kenelm responded, after a moment of 
virile paddling which carried them safely off the 
treacherous flats, “it’s safer to have deep water 
under your keel, and plenty of room to turn in.” 


CHAPTER VI 


RENUNCIATION AND RESOLVE 

I T had come to this: Desire was gone, and the 
thing must be fought out, once for all. 

For this alone, Kenelm, true to his native 
instinct, had sought the woods and the moun- 
tains, where, undisturbed, he might lay cheek 
and heart against the bare brown bosom of the 
Earth-Mother. 

It was yet too soon for thought to come. Misery 
must first assert her domination; pure, wordless, 
brute misery. 

This unthought-out agony possessed Kenelm 
for hours, alternating emotional paroxysms with 
dull intervals of emotional indifference. 

Hours? Twilight had deepened to the call of 
the stars when he broke from the last melan- 
choly half circle of firs into the open glade at 
the top. 

Back of all sophisms remained that irrecon- 
cilable estrangement of race. 

He clasped his hands palm upwards to form a 
pillow and, lying flat, stared steadily at the multi- 
plying star-points, pale in the moonlit shimmer. 


6o 


Renunciation and Resolve 6i 

Yonder, after moon-setting, stretched Sheewin’s 
Trail, startlingly close. 

Kenelm had spent many a free night on this 
rocky bed, watching alone the hushed cavalcade 
of the constellations. He had known them, all, 
before he had cared to hunt up the cause of their 
changing positions, or had cumbered himself with 
their clumsy nomenclature ; had known them with 
the intimate knowledge of the mariner and the 
savage. 

For longest periods his eyes rested on the great 
Trail to southward, where it deepened into lam- 
bent whiteness after the late setting of the moon. 

At intervals he sang his song and hers to the 
listening night and the stars. Not Death, but 
Life, had led his love away. 

Pitying, at last, the gentle Sheewin led this 
wearied lad along his glittering trail to the far, 
sweet heaven of sleep. 

At sunrise another Kenelm stood facing the ro- 
seate glow and glitter of awakening earth and sky. 
The gorgeousness of color display filled him to 
the lips with sheer love of living. A laugh of 
physical delight broke from him as the crimson 
clouds in the northeast were suddenly pierced by 
the serrated snow mountains of the mainland. 

Preferring not to witness the fading of the gay 
pageant, Kenelm, at the end of one long, satisfy 
ing gaze, strode buoyantly down into the damp 
shadow of the woods. 


62 


Kenelm’s Desire 


The passion of the day before and the resulting 
ecstasy of the night had passed. He remembered 
them as a necessary, a sacred, but a completed 
experience 

This morning life meant, not grief, nor regret, 
but action — hard work; head-work and body- 
work, he craved both. 

To work, one must eat. He laughed again, to 
find himself hungry, and plunged his hand into 
his coat-pocket in search of the dry bread and 
cheese of yesterday’s unused store. They tasted 
delicious, washed down by draughts of cold 
spring water which he drank, kneeling, his lips 
applied in primitive fashion to the glass-like sur- 
face of the diminutive woodland pool. The water 
gurgled into his eyes and nose. He delightedly 
dashed whole handfuls over his head and neck 
before resuming the long stride of his descent, 
which was so vigorous and well sustained that 
he had reached the Custom House in good time 
for a gentle scolding from Mrs. Fraser before her 
departure to attend the morning service. 

‘‘You know, Kennie, how anxious I get 
when you are gone so long,” she remonstrated 
pleadingly. 

“Why, mother, what hurt could come to me 
on the mountain?” he expostulated, with a rare 
caress, which embarrassed almost as much as it 
pleased his timid mother. To Kenelm and to 
herself he was as truly her child as was any one 


Renunciation and Resolve 63 

of the four other lusty boys who made up their 
patriarchal household His freedom from ad- 
mixture with the white element seemed to mark 
him peculiarly her own. He represented the old 
life and old tradition, now, happily for her, for- 
ever passed away; but which with the fleeting of 
the years took on added tenderness and pathos 
to her loyal Alaskan heart. 

Auntie Fraser was smaller than Gran’ma Peden, 
fifteen years younger, with a childlike dependence 
and shyness of manner which made her way deep 
into the heart’s core of each of the six firm-browed 
men who tyrannized over while they adored her. 

Beauty, even of her own type, she must always 
have lacked ; except for her hair. Such splendid 
hair it was; fine, soft, and dusky-brown rather 
than black, a characteristic of their tribe, in 
contradistinction to the coarse black hair of the 
Island Indians. Then, what magnificent abun- 
dance! Unbraided, it rolled down halfway be- 
tween knee and ankle. Decorously confined, it 
covered the top and back of her small head with 
shining plaits which she took a world of innocent 
pride in weaving from, side to side with unweary- 
ing elaboration. 

‘H’ll paddle you to church, to make up for 
being so bad,” Kenelm said, leading the way 
down to their boathouse. 

All had become sweet and natural again. This 
daily sweetness of their simple lives he had not 


64 


Kenelm’s Desire 


realized in the time before the coming of Desire. 
In those still recent, but far-off days, he had 
known nothing of the world of strife and emotion 
in which he had lived during the past weeks. 
Just now, kneeling opposite his prim little mother 
in her Sunday-go-to-meeting hat and gown, he 
resolutely forgot the turmoil and revelled in the 
safe commonplaceness to which he had returned. 

‘‘Are you happy, Kennie?” Auntie Fraser 
asked, with wistful hesitation. 

“Of course,’’ Kenelm answered, both dimples 
coming out to corroborate the truthfulness of his 
assertion. His mother watched them with the 
satisfaction she always felt at their appearance. 

“I didn’t know. I haven’t seen much of you 
lately, I was afraid you might be lonesome, now.” 
She did not explain why, but both understood, 
bashfully. 

“Ho! Don’t worry about me. I’m all right, 
just now,” he assured her. “I was knocked up 
a bit after this last convention, but I’m — oh! 
I’m all right.” 

When Kenelm had helped his mother out and 
tied up the canoe, he walked briskly through the 
town to where the great flat lawn of the man- 
ager’s residence created a bit of Old England 
amid the firs and bracken of half-civilized British 
Columbia. 

With the air of a man whose mind is finally 
made up after a period of vacillation, he rang the 


Renunciation and Resolve 65 • 

bell and asked for Mr. Alexander, whom, not 
being a habitual church-goer, he hoped to find 
at leisure. 

“Not business to-day, I hope, Fraser,’’ said 
Mr. Alexander — Old Sandy, as he was familiarly 
called behind his back. He had met Kenelm in 
the front hall, pipe in mouth, with a hearty, yet 
conservative grip of the hand. “But come in 
and sit ye down — sit ye down.” 

Kenelm complied, at some loss for the words 
that had grouped themselves convincingly in his 
mind during his rapid return from the mountain. 

“Well, lad, what is it?” he asked, not un- 
kindly. “Another turn at the books — eh?” 

“No — at least, not at just the books you 
mean,” Kenelm replied, beginning slowly, but 
gathering fluency, once the words had begun to 
flow. “You told me I might ask you for counsel 
or assistance. I’ve come this time for the 
counsel.” 

“Well, I don’t say but that’s letting me off 
easy, like,” Mr. Alexander commented. “Well, 
man, out with it! Don’t be afraid to speak. Be 
a man or a mouse. Trouble at the Union — eh ? ” 

“Not just that, either,” Kenelm said, laughing 
apologetically. “To be candid, it’s all about my- 
self. You see, it’s this way. I’ve got a good 
deal of time on my hands just now, and like to 
have, for one while. I’ve been thinking over a 
plan to use it.” 


66 


Kenelm’s Desire 


^‘Vera good — vera good! And what like may 
that plan be, now, if it is a fair question?’^ 

‘'Yes, but I’d like to explain a little, first, or 
you may think I’m getting the big-head. Well, 
the only way I can make a living is by book- 
keeping. Even when I have a good place with 
you, sir, it doesn’t bring in enough to give a man 
much of a start in life — now does it?” 

“Well,” cautiously, “that depends. That .... 
de . . . . pends.” 

“Anyway, I’m like to be thrown out of a job 
whenever times get hard, for no fault of my own. 
You must admit that?” 

“Hmhl” watching Kenelm’s rapt countenance 
from the ambuscade of his grizzled brows. 

“So I thought I’d better try to work up some- 
thing else. Something I could go at by bits in 
my idle times, and that would count in the long 
run, without interfering with regular work when 
I get hold of another position.” 

“In short?” 

“In short, I want to — ” he choked an instant 
over this first voicing of what he felt would seem 
to many the acme of impudent assumption. “I 
want to study law.” 

“Ah-ha! Ah-ha! So thafs the mouse in the 
meal tub — eh?” 

They sat silent for some minutes. 

“And what are your plans for carrying on 
such a course of study? I suppose you know 


Renunciation and Resolve 67 

it’s no holiday task you’re thinking of going into, 
with the law?” 

‘‘I haven’t made any plans, yet; I don’t know 
how to make them. That’s what I came about,” 
Kenelm said. suppose there’s lots of reading 
to be done, and examinations to be passed. I’m 
not so much afraid of that. What I can’t do 
in one year I can do in two; what I can’t do in 
five years I can do in ten, for that matter. You 
know, ^It’s dogged that does it.’” 

“But what I don’t see just clearly is, where 
my counsel comes in,” the manager said, shrewdly. 
“You seem pretty well made up about it now.” 

Kenelm’ s dark skin showed a duskier stain, 
creeping painfully up behind his ears to cross his 
cheeks and invade his hair, where it receded 
thinly from his prominent, high-sloping forehead. 

“It isn’t the studying part that bothers me,” 
he acknowledged in a suppressed tone. “I could 
master that, easy enough, give me time. It’s 
whether, after I’ve done it all, and that, whether 
it would be any good? If I get enough book- 
learning packed into my upper story, would 
anybody ever give me the chance to use it?” 

Mr. Alexander elaborately loosened the contents 
of his half-smoked meerschaum by the instru- 
mentality of a long brass pin, which he pro- 
duced from under the breast lapel of his braided 
smoking-jacket. The operation interested both 
men absorbingly. Completed to the apparent 


68 


Kenelm’s Desire 


satisfaction of both, the pin was methodically re- 
turned to the exact holes from which it had been 
extracted, one or two pulls given to test the efii- 
ciency of the manipulation, and then, with a 
formal clearing of his throat, Mr. Alexander took 
up the previous question. 

‘‘I know what you refer to, lad,’’ he said with 
gruff kindness. ‘‘We might as well face it out as 
to make out we don’t just understand each other, 
so to speak. But before we do that, tell me why 
you take to the law ? Is it that you feel any real 
qualification, or is it that you don’t know what 
else to turn your hand to, as you may say?” 

“I don’t want to appear to pretend to anything 
great,” Kenelm replied, “but I’ve noticed I can 
always pick out the good points in an argument, 
whether it’s for or against me. I like to do it. I 
often argue out to myself both ways, matters that 
don’t concern me. There’s pleasure in it, if you 
once get started. Then, I’m naturally secretive. 
I don’t show my feelings or opinions unless I 
choose; yet I read other people’s minds pretty 
easily. I often know what the other person is 
going to say before he says it. It isn’t mind- 
reading, it’s because I see his side as well as my 
own, and I know what I’d say in his place. 
That’s if he happens to be like me. If he is 
different, I usually have him gauged well enough 
to know just about how far he will go into the 
subject. And about speaking — I’m not elegant 


Renunciation and Resolve 69 

in my language, I haven’t had the chance. That’s 
something I can improve; for I like a nice manner 
of speech, and I know it when I hear it. But, 
even as it is, when I have anything important to 
say I can always find words enough to say it in, 
good and strong. I know it isn’t much, and it 
isn’t unusual, but it’s more of a qualification than 
I feel for anything else. And I’m pretty long- 
winded — say! you can certify to that,” stopping 
to give his short laugh; then, with a possessing 
enthusiasm which did more for him in the elder 
man’s estimation than anything that had pre- 
ceded, “In fact, I don’t want to do anything else 
but just that. It makes no difference how long 
I need to study; it is the one thing I take any 
interest in doing. If I just knew how to go at it, 
and whether, after I had qualified, I should be 
given a fair chance with the others!” 

“H’m! I’ve been thinking about that side of it. 
There’s the Chief. His popularity has never been 
impaired on account of Mrs. Fraser’s nationality. 
So far, I admit, no Indian in this province has 
risen to prominence, and none has shown any 
disposition to try; you know as well as I do what 
they average. They’re an easy-going, degenerate 
lot, at the best. But in Old Canada there is plenty 
of Indian blood sprinkled among the public men. 
By exception, both there and in the States, a full- 
blood Native comes to the front in the professions. 
I don’t see why you cannot do as well if you have 


70 


Kenelm’s Desire 


the mental attributes and the perseverance. Your 
reputation is good for both, and you’ve got friends 
to wish you well and be proud if you succeed. I 
don’t see what more a young man, white or brown, 
needs. Take it all in all, I can’t see where you’d 
stand to lose by the venture. It will mean an 
educational broadening” — he had dropped, with 
evident intention, the vernacular which usually gar- 
nished his speech — ‘‘and if you do not succeed 
in the practice of the law, you will at least be on 
a better social and intellectual footing than though 
you had not made the attempt. Success is not all 
a matter of book-learning, nor of oratory ; although 
I’m free to confess, a swingeing stump speech, 
such as you made the other night, would go far 
with a jury. Nevertheless, human personality 
plays the most important part in this profession, 
as it does in all. If you can convince people of 
your sympathy and that you possess the power of 
helping them, of seeing their side of a case strongly 
and of making other people see it, the chances 
are good for business. I can’t say, and you 
can’t say, whether you have this qualification.” 

“At least I have enough of it to win you over 
to my view of the case,” Kenelm suggested, slyly. 

Mr. Alexander responded by a broad grin. 

“Oh, I’m not saying but you’re foxy enough,” 
relapsing linguistically. “Well, without it, the 
purest of white blood in your veins would not 
give you success. With it, your Indian blood may 


Renunciation and Resolve 71 

make the fight harder and longer; but you’ll get 
there, lad, or I miss my guess.” 

Kenelm arose to go. 

Just one word more, Fraser,” Mr. Alexander 
said, detainingly. “Have you considered this in 
all its bearings?” 

“I think so?” questioningly. 

“It means no ‘best girls,’ old chap; no sweet 
little wife — no grocer’s bills nor shoes for the 
baby, this ten years.” 

“Oh, that’s all right/’ Kenelm retorted, with 
an embarrassed smile. “I thought that all out, 
first. That doesn’t cut a figure.” 

“A good resolution. See that you stick to it, 
or it’s all day with your ambitions. Well, when 
you find out just what you want me to do, come 
and tell me. Keep me advised and I will keep 
interested. You musn’t expect an old chap like 
me to hunt you up and beg for your confidence. 
If you stick to it until you are called, remind me 
to give you my handsel.” 


CHAPTER VII 


AFTER FIVE STRENUOUS YEARS 

OOD Lord — Mr. Milner! Do you want 
to see my girls on the street in their 
nightgowns ? 

Gentle Mr. Milner flushed, raising his hand in 
deprecation; but Mrs. Heneker was not to be 
stopped. 

“Fine clothes — eh? Indeed! I guess Pve 
got a right to spend my money foolishly on my 
girls if I want to. It don’t harm anybody but 
myself and them. And as for rings — every ring 
Allie’s got on her fingers was given her by my 
poor mother; she’s that fond of Allie, she don’t 
think there’s any diamond in the world too big, 
if she could just get a-hold of it to give her. Say! 
You don’t have to look outside of the family to 
account for Allie’s finery. You just ought to 
have seen how happy the girl was, getting her 
lesson ready for Sunday School, the two Sundays 
she had her class. And now to be turned down 
without any just cause ! She says to me, she says, 
‘Ma, what did they give me a class for, if they 
were going to take it away again?’ She’s cried 
pretty near ever since.” 


72 


After Five Strenuous Years 73 

“I knew nothing — or rather — I did not know 
the extent of the feeling against her, or I should 
not have given her the class, Mr. Milner said 
sorrowfully. 

‘‘Lord! didn^t I explain to you that both girls 
went to bed at seven o’clock the night of the 
minstrel show? So they couldn’t have been there. 
But that’s always the way. My girls are nice- 
looking and accomplished, and the rest of the 
women are jealous — just! That’s the way they 
carry on in this town. That’s their Christian 
charity! Oh, it’s a fright! Don’t tell me!” 

“But I hope to see both Althea and Jessie at 
church in spite of this unhappy misunderstanding.” 

“Well, you won’t, then. Not that I’d prevent 
them — no! But young folks are that sensitive.” 

“I am truly sorry that you resent — ” 

“Oh, don’t worry about me! I’m a-comin’, fast 
enough. That’s more my church than it is yours, 
if I do say so to your face, Mr. Milner; and my 
girls not good enough for your Sunday School! 
I’ve worked for that church for over thirty years, 
ever since there was a church at all, and I’ll be 
there long after you’ve gone out. I just only wish 
my girls had my spunk; they wouldn’t let you 
run them out. Poor things! They don’t know 
how to fight for themselves, but I guess they’ll 
learn, after awhile.” 

“You will see my motives in a clearer light when 
you have had time to think,” Mr. Milner said. 


74 


Kenelm’s Desire 


“I hope that I shall never miss you from your 
place in the church, and I earnestly desire to see 
the girls both there and at Sunday School before 
long.” He turned to go. 

‘‘Oh yes!” sniffed poor Auntie Mel. “That’s 
all right! I can go to church and the girls can 
go to the devil — for all you!” 

The rector walked down the steps of the candy 
store with a sore heart. Why things should ever 
go wrong, when he and his wife gave so generously 
of time, money and ardor, was a puzzle to 
these two middle-aged, cultured English gentle- 
folks. They carefully took no credit to them- 
selves for the many sacrifices involved in the bare 
act of living amidst surroundings so shockingly 
below the social level of even their inconspicuous 
footing among English gentility; but the strange 
thing was, that no one else seemed disposed to 
give them credit on that account, either. 

Indeed, a more wayward aggregation (c^?wgrega- 
tion would be a humorous misnomer) than that of 
St. Mary’s church beside the bandstand, would be 
hard to discover ; or one more critical of its rector 
and more restive under the lightest touch of pas- 
toral direction. 

That the clerical pair often unconsciously at- 
tempted to guide their flock in a manner better 
suited to undulating English meadowlands than to 
the bleak and fearsome mountainsides of storm- 
beaten British Columbia, was the logical outcome 
of their early training and late migration. 


After Five Strenuous Years 75 

The rector’s wife called on Auntie Mel, after 
tea. 

am most anxious to keep Althea and Jessie 
in the school,” she said, with determined sweet- 
ness. ‘‘And I think you have taken Mr. Milner 
in the wrong spirit — oh, entirely wrong, I do 
assure you. He is really quite distressed over 
the matter.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Milner,” Auntie Mel re- 
plied, with anxious suavity. “I hope I did mis- 
understand, and I may have spoke too quick, 
like, I’m free to admit.” 

“Yes? I am so pleased you realize that. I 
thought it would be so nice if you would consent 
to have the girls come to me every Thursday 
morning for an hour. I can teach them embroid- 
ery, and we can have a chapter in the Bible 
together, and I feel it would be most improving.” 

“Thank you, yes — that would be very nice,” 
Auntie Mel replied, puzzled. Jess rolled her eyes 
at Althea, who did not respond 

“I am so glad you agree with me. And now, 
about the Sunday School. Of course the dear 
girls must come. I shall take them myself. We’ll 
have a nice little class of our own ; just Althea and 
Jessie and I.” 

Jess arose hurriedly and swept a deep bow 
before the astounded philanthropist. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Milner,” she said, harshly, 
“for planning such a nice reform school for our 


76 


Kenelm’s Desire 


benefit. But Allie and I ain’t proper candidates 
as yet. We can’t very well be reformed until we 
have been wicked, first. Good evening.” 

She flounced out of the room, followed by 
Althea, who laughed and cried in such violent 
hysterics that Mrs. Heneker, with a muttered ex- 
cuse, rushed off anxiously in their wake. 

‘‘My dear Henry,” Mrs. Milner said to her ex- 
pectant husband on her return home, “I found 
them quite hardened; quite hardened. I am 
afraid there is nothing more to be done with 
them. I’m sure we have tried. My conscience 
is quite clear. I suppose it is their Indian blood.” 

Meanwhile, Althea cried weakly and Jessie 
stormed, to the admiration of her mother, until a 
hesitating tap announced the coming of Auntie 
Fraser. 

“It’s good news,” Auntie Fraser said, as soon 
as the door was open. “Desire is on the way.” 

When, three days later, Kenelm met Desire at 
Victoria wharf, a strong handclasp, a brief word 
of joyous greeting, was all, until they got through 
the Custom House. And there! just where De- 
sire had plucked a blossom, five years ago, 
bloomed the identical sturdy wild rose bush, 
still beside the footpath leading to the street cars. 
One of the flowers was perfect this time, also; 
large and deep-hued to the edge of its luxuriant, 
expanding petals. Desire picked and gave it to 
Kenelm. 


After Five Strenuous Years 77 

^IVe kept mine five years,” she said. “See 
if you can do as well.” 

“So you have one? We’ll make a compact. 
If you should ever want me, all you need do is 
to send your rose. It will summon me from the 
ends of the earth.” 

“As though I couldn’t write!” 

“That’s so! You see how quickly civilization 
drops away from me. I am hardly beyond the 
age of symbols. You have several centuries the 
start. Then I must keep it for the sake of 
the present, rather than the future. Tell me! 
How did you get your mother persuaded into 
letting you come?” pinning the rose in his 
buttonhole. 

“Oh, she wasn’t really set against it. Since I 
came back from Germany I’ve worked so hard 
at pupils and concerts and things that I have 
earned a vacation. So have you?” 

“So have I,” gravely. “But I haven’t got so 
far along, I’m afraid. I’m not yet where I can 
make any money out of it.” 

“But how splendidly you have managed! And 
I know you must have slaved to get the money 
for expenses. Tell me about it.” 

By this time they were snugly settled at break- 
fast. Desire could not but notice the quiet ac- 
customedness of his manner. 

“He must have been among people,” she 
thought. “He doesn’t put his elbows on the 


78 


Kenelm's Desire 


table any more, and his finger nails are not only 
clean, they were always that, but filed and rubbed 
into shape.” 

Desire was a fastidious person for all her 
altruism. 

“First, however,” aloud, “I’m going to use you 
all I can, musically, this summer. So make up 
your mind.” 

“Me!” in consternation. “How?” 

“Oh, the Indian songs. I’ve got around to 
them. I want to work out a piano suite.” 

He looked bewildered. 

“Oh, what a barbarian! You don’t even know 
what ‘piano suite’ means.” 

“I confess I don’t always think of ‘piano’ and 
‘sweet’ in the same connection.” 

Desire stopped to make a face at him before 
asking, “How’s Allie?” 

Kenelm settled into impassivity. 

“Not quite well, I believe. She is looking 
older. Jess,” brightly, “is the biggest of the 
whole family, now. She’s got lots of spirit and 
makes things hum. They’re all excitement, ex- 
pecting you; and mother’s been cleaning house 
ever since your telegram came.” 

“And the funny little rector’s wife — does she 
still say ‘ ahfternoon ’ ? That was my first ex- 
perience of a British snub.” 

“I imagine, your one experience.” 

“Yes, it stands alone.” 


After Five Strenuous Years 79 

‘^You’re lucky,” lightly. “Now, I have gone 
through, in the last five years, all the different 
modifications. But I never let it be seen that I 
recognize a snub, and people have about given 
up, in despair at my density.” 

“Thafs not the reason!” impulsively. “It is 
because they begin to understand what you are. 
How differently you talk! You are British 
enough yet, in accent; but you have dropped 
that delicious vernacular. I’m glad to see it, of 
course; it is the right thing to do, but I miss 
the old idiom.” 

“Ya-as?” he interrogated broadly. “Just only 
wait till we get out in the canoe, like, or it’s mat- 
terless who’s in ear-shot. Say! I’ll talk straight 
British Columbia till you’ll think it’s shockin’.” 

Desire clapped her hands softly under the table. 

“So it isn’t the same canoe?” when they had 
taken their seats in the train. “Not the dear old 
fox-head?” 

“No. But you’ll have the fleetest canoe in 
Wake Siah, this summer — oh, she’s a beauty ! — 
and the best canoer for fifty miles around,” rais- 
ing his hat ceremoniously. 

“Oh, but what good times! We’ll go up the 
river again, and down to Sabellita Island, and — ” 

“Don’t!” interrupted Kenelm. “Let’s not 
plan anything. Remember how it turned out 
last time. We’ll live from hand to mouth, this 
summer.” 


8o 


Kenelm’s Desire 


The Chief himself was at the station to meet 
them. Splendidly framed and muscled, with 
long gray full beard bringing out in effective re- 
lief his pinkish Scotch skin and large, benevolent, 
but penetrating blue eyes, he stands for the finest 
class of immigrant provincials and fathers of a 
nation. 

After tea came the walk to Gran’ma Peden’s. 
This year Desire was to stay with the Frasers. 

The old pilot, two years a cripple from rheu- 
matism, went no more upon the water. Indeed, 
for many months he had not journeyed farther 
than from his bedroom to the veranda, where he 
sat on fine days, a stout and rosy prisoner. 

He wore his cap drawn down to shade his blue 
eyes, and kept his staff between his knees, usually 
with both hands clasped upon its massive knob. 
On the bench beside him lay his nautical glasses, 
which from time to time he raised to his eyes in 
the practised manner of the seaman, to sweep the 
shipping and the harbor upon which he had spent 
a full three-quarters of the hours contained in a 
world-eventful forty years of monotonous personal 
experience. 

“WeTe main glad to see you back again,” he 
said, heartily. ‘^Sit ye down and tell us news 
about the boy. I mind me when I first saw the 
little chap, how he pulled these rings in my ears. 
Oh, he^s a rare one, that Elly; a rare little chap, 
I say. And you’re lookin’ fine yourself,” he con- 


After Five Strenuous Years 8i 

tinued, when she had settled down on the bench 
beside him. “A bit rounder, like, than when I 
saw you, but clinker-built — clinker-built ; that’s 
what you were five years agone, and that’s what 
you are to-day, clinker-built.” 

‘‘Desire has grown mighty pretty,” Althea 
observed critically. “That comes of not living 
in such an old hole as this. It’s no use being 
pretty, nor anything, much, if you have to live 
here.” 

Talking, she screwed up her face in more fan- 
tastic fashion than of old. The level sunrays, 
crossing her still lovely countenance, disclosed 
permanent lines which should not have been 
there at twenty-one. Her soft white cheeks 
showed a flattening of their once perfect curve, 
and her lips were barely pink enough to 
distinguish them from the adjacent wax- white 
skin. 

Her drooping features brightened, the next 
minute; she fluttered a greeting toward the bit 
of Front street a block away. 

“That’s why I like to be at gran’ma’s,” she 
resumed. “You can watch all the fellows go by. 
They all look up here, about this time in the 
evening, you bet you, and I wave whether I know 
them or not. What’s the use of not being cheeky ? 
— that’s what I say. Other people are ; I might 
as well have a little fun while it’s going. Have a 
good time while you’re alive — when you’re dead, 


82 


Kenelm’s Desire 


you’re dead a long time. That’s a true word. 
That was my best fellow, Desire; ain’t he all 
right?” 

Desire had puzzled faintly about the young and 
handsome man who had raised his hat to Althea’s 
salute. Although he had been too far off to en- 
able her to see his features distinctly, she now 
remembered that he had gone up the river in 
Lydia’s train, that long-ago night. 

^‘Yes, Angus McLeod is a fine boy,” Auntie 
Mel said, indulgently. “And he’s got a good 
place in the bank. But I tell Allie she’d better 
look out; he’s a confirmed flirt.” 

“Well, so’m I. It’s him that had better look 
out,” Althea replied pertly. “I wrote to Lydia 
the other day that I was going to take him away 
from her if she didn’t come up this summer. I 
gave her fair warning. I don’t know but what 
I’ll do it anyhow.” 

Desire and Kenelm said goodnight and went 
away. 

“I hope you can get some of that nonsense out 
of Allie’s head,” he said later, when they were 
alone in the moonlight on the upper balcony of 
the Custom House. 

He arose from the low-swung hammock in 
which he had spent many a night staring straight 
upward at the blue. His careful mother had cov- 
ered him with an immense Fraser plaid. As he 
faced the moonlight, the plaid clinging close from 


After Five Strenuous Years 83 

his shoulders down, his fine hair blown lightly 
back from his dark, receding forehead — the fact 
of his nativity came upon Desire with the impact 
of a revelation. 

So must the chieftains of his race have looked, 
throughout the savage centuries. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE WHITE STONE CHIEF 


don’t you like Lydia?” 

\\ A great many times Desire had told 
herself that she must not ask this ques- 
tion; but it had escaped, and she was too proud 
to recant. 

‘‘Beg pardon?” Britishly. 

“Why do you not like Lydia?” 

“What makes you think I do not?” 

“You aren’t sincere with me. We all know 
you don’t. I have never understood.” 

They had dropped down to rest on the top of 
a wooded knoll which overlooks a narrow canyon, 
bridged at this moment by long yellow beams 
from the westward trending sun. 

Kenelm rested his chin on his left hand, his 
elbow on the ground, as he lay stretched at full 
length along the slope and gazed steadily at the 
straight, aureate bars. 

“What do you call being sincere?” he asked. 
“If you don’t tell an untruth?” He watched 
the slowly changing slant of the massive bright 


84 


The White Stone Chief 85 

beams with placid enjoyment. “Beg pardon — 
what did you want to know? Oh, about Lydia. 
Perhaps we are not mentally congenial. Should 
you imagine us to be?” 

“No-o; but you and Auntie Mel?” 

“Yes, Mel and I have always got on. She 
hasn’t as good judgment as she might have about 
some things, but she’s all right.” 

“And Lydia isn’t?” quickly. 

He looked up in mild surprise. 

“Why, no. I didn’t mean to say that. She 
may be a bit selfish; so am I, for that matter. 
But you can’t like everybody in the same degree. 
It isn’t natural.” 

“Gran’ma says you were devoted to Lydia 
when you were a boy.” 

“Ya-as?” his voice unconsciously broadened. 
“Well, Lydia was always jolly and pretty, and 
made a lot over us kids; and she is a smooth 
talker, too, when she wants to be. It doesn’t 
take much to bamboozle a kid, you know. But 
we haven’t been, not to say intimate, for a good 
many years.” 

“Not since her marriage?” Desire was pro- 
voked with herself. She sprang up. “I do beg 
pardon! I oughtn’t to tease. But Lydia has let 
fall a word now and then that made me think her 
marriage had something to do with your dislike. 
I’ve often been sorry you should feel so, and I’m 
sure you wouldn’t, if you once knew Morgan. 


86 


Kenelm’s Desire 


He isn’t rich, and according to some standards 
he isn’t good. But he is good to Lydia, and 
away down deep he is good, really. I don’t 
know how to make you understand what I mean. 
I wish you knew him.” 

He laughed lightly, rising in the easy way that 
Desire was always going to observe and imitate, 
and always forgetting about until it was accom- 
plished. One moment he would be flat on the 
ground; the next, after a quiet curve and simul- 
taneous extension of muscles, he would be. stand- 
ing erect, without visible effort. 

“So that’s Lydia’s version — eh? Or your 
version of Lydia’s version. Well, it is all wrong. 
If anything could make me care for Lydia it 
would be her marriage with Mr. Llewellyn. But 
you are right, I don’t care much for her, since I’ve 
grown up. We fell apart mainly because there 
was nothing to keep us together. Petting hasn’t 
much influence with me, and Lydia has no other 
means of attraction. Has she for you?” 

“No-o. I haven’t seen much of her since I 
came back from Europe. She is very gay, and 
I work hard.” 

“I don’t believe she has anything for you,” he 
said, earnestly. “I hope you will never be much 
together.” 

“And you won’t tell me why?” 

He hesitated. “I wonder if you won’t let me 
off? You know that I am naturally secretive. 


The White Stone Chief 87 

It’s in the blood. You like to talk things out, 
get angry, forgive, and if you don’t forget, you 
remember with indulgence. I’m not like that. 
I can stand a lot, but it must be without words.” 

^^Yes,” recognizing the ring of sincerity in his 
voice. “I’ll let you off, if you will promise me 
something.” 

“What is it?” 

“Cautious!” They laughed. 

“That’s in the blood, too. Well, I — I — 
promise.” 

Desire drew a deep breath of mock triumph, 
then grew serious. “It is this. I am just the 
least bit afraid of you, and I don’t like to be. If 
you should get angry with me you would never 
let me know why. It isn’t comfortable. I know 
I talk a good deal — sometimes it’s only off the 
tip of my tongue. I don’t know the word is there 
until it has hopped off, and all I can do is to say 
I’m sorry. If the wrong word hops off some day 
when we two are talking, I shall never know it. 
I shall simply lose you, and not know why. You 
are so — so — ” 

“Stolid, well? It is my Indian heritage, you 
know.” 

“And then I shall have no chance to explain it 
away or to beg off. Now, if I do hurt you at any 
time, will you promise to tell me, no matter how 
angry or disgusted you may be? And give me a 
chance to say I am sorry?” 


88 


Kenelm’s Desire 


‘‘Very well, I will. But it won’t be easy, and 
I don’t believe it will ever happen. You are im- 
pulsive and you talk nonsense, sometimes, just 
for the fun of it, or when you are embarrassed, 
but I never knew you to think a disloyal thought. 
I can understand and overlook a certain amount 
of deception,” in sudden bitterness, “when it 
doesn’t go further than concealment.” Desire’s 
eyes dilated with astonishment. “That is legiti- 
mate self-defense;” his voice grew aggressive, as 
if at the memory of an intolerable grievance. “But 
I can never forgive treachery, whether it is toward 
myself or another person. There’s a cold dislike 
comes into me.” 

“Why should you say all this to me — in that 
tone!” Desire cried, walking away in anger. 

“I didn’t mean you! What a fool I’ve been 
making of myself!” he cried contritely. “You 
see, it doesn’t do for me to become confidential. 
I am too harsh and moody. I don’t just know 
what made me say all that. I didn’t mean you 
— how could I ? The very mention of Lydia 
always upsets me.” 

She stood silent some seconds. 

“I don’t understand, yet. You spoke so in- 
tensely — as though you meant something. So 
we will let it go.” 

Hardly calm, they moved on in silence until 
Kenelm said, gloomily, “We two will never 
quarrel but once.” 


The White Stone Chief 


89 


Desire’s brightness came back. 

“We two will never quarrel at all.” Then, 
saucily, “Don’t look sombre, it isn’t becoming.” 

“Then don’t look mad — although it is be- 
coming.” They laughed light-heartedly together 
and, hand grasping hand, scrambled up the steep, 
brambly trail to the top of the hill that held 
the Indian picture they had started out to find. 

Level with the earth, in places covered by it, 
in others defaced by rankly spreading moss, is a 
great slab of white stone, resembling marble; 
the surface is roughened, but the rudely carven 
man displayed upon it still shows strong and 
deep. 

“Does it mean anything?” asked Desire. 

“No. That is, it isn’t picture-writing, I be- 
lieve. The Smithsonian men did not think so. 
Probably, the portrait of a chief.” 

“He took a delightfully direct method of mak- 
ing his mark in the world.” 

Kenelm did not laugh. 

“He cannot have lived many generations 
back,” he said musingly. “The stone shows 
signs of wear in the fifteen years since I dis- 
covered it. Fifty years from now the whole 
thing will be unintelligible. Even now it has 
outlived its purpose. Not an Indian on the 
Island, so far as I can find out, knows its story. 
Not fifty Indians and not twenty-five white men 
know of its existence. The old chief is forgotten.” 


90 


Kenelm’s Desire 


shows that he was great in his world.’’ 

“But the great white men of Europe of his day, 
or even as far as two hundred years back, are 
still great. The seventeenth century of Europe 
is yesterday. Its heroes are, if anything, larger 
than life. The Indian chieftains of fifty years 
ago are forgotten, even by their descendants. 
Look at our clan. Aunt Peden, with her white 
family, is the last of the rulers. My brothers 
and even my mother — even myself — live the 
life of ordinary white people.” 

He paused. His eyebrows drew together. De- 
sire felt strangely reluctant to speak. 

“We are ashamed of our blood, although we 
try, for decency’s sake, to brazen it out. A 
Scotchman brags that he is a Stuart or a Mac- 
donald or a Fraser. You never hear an Indian 
boast in public of his clan. We are a silent lot, 
fading away, line by line, like this picture. When 
mother and aunt and I are gone, not one of our 
clan will remain who will know so much as that he 
has a tradition to maintain. The older ones are 
all dead, and the younger lot, well — as Old 
Sandy says — they’re a degenerate set.” 

“Not all!” 

To him the note of pity was an insupportable 
bitterness. 

“I don’t know but it’s better to be degenerate 
than to be a renegade to your race. You gain 
little by deserting their ways. Work all you like 


The White Stone Chief 91 

to change the color of your mind, you cannot 
lighten the color of your skin. Do your best, the 
whites admit you on sufferance. But you canff 
fall back on the Indians — they won’t have you. 
I suppose I might as well make a clean breast of 
it, now I am started — you wouldn’t have them. 
Just high enough to be disgusted at the degrada- 
tion of the people of your own race; not high 
enough to claim an even footing with the v/hite 
people you have to live amongst!” 

‘‘Kenelm — ” piteously. 

“Don’t pity me!” he cried harshly, shaking off 
her light touch on his arm. 

Still disturbed over their discussion concerning 
Lydia, bewildered by the suddenly revealed mental 
tragedy, the existence of which she had not sus- 
pected, passionately grieved by his impotent suf- 
fering, shamed by his repulse, Desire swayed a 
moment, large-eyed, then hid her face in both 
hands, rested her forehead against a friendly 
maple bole, and cried. 

“Oh, Desire! don’t do that! I did not know 
what I was doing. Forgive me. Won’t you 
forgive me ? I said I was selfish. I am a 
brute. Don’t cry, — oh, don’t cry! I can’t bear it. 
I don’t feel that way — not always — not often. 
Since you came I have hardly thought of it 
before. Don’t cry. It makes me want to kill 
myself!” 

The sobs grew gentler. 


92 


Kenelm’s Desire 


don’t dare touch your hand, Desire, but 
won’t you come away from this hateful spot? 
We’ll never come here again. I shan’t ask you 
to forgive me,” coaxingly; “I don’t see how you 
can. Just come away and try to forget what a 
brute I can be. I don’t see how I could have 
done it!” 

One wet white hand stole toward her belt, after 
the bit of handkerchief that should have been, but 
wasn’t, there. Kenelm remembered that he had a 
fresh one in his pocket. Shaking it out of its 
folds, he came near enough to tuck it into her 
searching hand. Desire laughed nervously, pressed 
the cool linen to her eyes with one hand and held 
out the other to Kenelm. 

“Let’s go away,” she said unsteadily. “The 
place is bewitched. We never made each other 
unhappy before.” 

“We never will again. I don’t see what got 
into me. I’ve been so jolly since you came, and 
before, too. I don’t whine much, even to my- 
self. I haven’t anything to whine about, looked 
at in the right light. We ought to have gone out 
in the canoe to-day, it’s not so very windy, after 
all. Sunday we’ll go, in the afternoon, so you 
won’t have to cut church. I’ll tell you what we’ll 
do; we’ll go around Black Point and down to the 
Narrows. That’s a great sight. If we get there 
soon enough we can try fighting our way through 
and come back before the tide changes. It’s not 


The White Stone Chief 


93 


really dangerous when the tide is coming this 
way, but when it’s going seaward — look out! 
There’s a time, just at the dead full, when we 
might try it. I’ve done it alone. Don’t you think 
you would like to try?” 

Walk as quickly, talk as gaily as they might, 
their unwonted agitation was not to be out- 
stripped. 

Kenelm’s command of words was more notice- 
able now than before he had begun his law 
studies; his silences more complete, more non- 
committal and more judicious. 

This gift of words was as much his inheritance 
as music was that of Desire’s. Gran’ma, a born 
tragedienne, took great pride in Kenelm’s powers, 
which she declared would in old days have won 
him much fame as an orator and wise man. 

As they sped homeward. Desire glanced cov- 
ertly at him more than once, wondering. Was 
he, in truth, so volatile, or was he still suffering 
at heart? 

Desire, you look tired,” Auntie Mel called 
out, when the two at last reached the Custom 
House. 

Auntie Mel and her daughters had come down 
to discuss a camping project and were, as usual, 
all enthusiasm. 

‘‘Kennie, you never did have any mercy on that 
child. I’m going to carry her off home with me, 
if Auntie Fraser doesn’t take better care of her.” 


94 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Desire declared she wasn’t tired, only dusty, 
and so slipped off to her room for a cool bath and 
a few moments of quiet before subjecting her 
overwrought nerves to the shrill concert of voices 
on the circumscribed upper veranda. 

^^Now! You can see for yourself how tired she 
looks,” Althea cried, on Desire’s return. •• ‘‘She’s 
working too hard. That’s what’s the matter — 
sure! She’s like me. She needs a vacation. 
Don’t you, honey ? Say ” in a stage whisper. 

“Don’t let her put up a job on you,” Jess in- 
terposed. “Wait till you hear what we want. 
Maybe you won’t like it.” 

“Yes, I shall; what is it?” 

“Camping.” 

“Camping! On an island? Oh-h-h!” raptur- 
ously. 

“Yes. Over on Friendship. We’ve almost 
begged Auntie Fraser into it already. Now you 
beg a while.” 

“Desire doesn’t have to beg,” Auntie Fraser 
said lovingly. “We’re just waiting to hear what 
you would like to do, and if Kennie can go, too. 
Come up here, Kennie,” beckoning over the rail- 
ing to where Kenelm and the Chief sat on the 
lower porch, deep in discussion of a certain coal 
claim at that time arousing general debate. He 
looked up with some reluctance. 

“What is it?” he called. 

“When can you go camping with us?” 


The White Stone Chief 95 

Any time you like. All right — I’ll go,” and 
he turned back to take up the broken thread of 
the argument. 

‘‘The man has law on his side, only he hasn’t 
the money or the brains to win. He bought the 
land before the Company had any idea of the 
veins going that way, or they’d never have let 
him have it. He bought it according to the speci- 
fications of the original contract. It’s his, clear 
through to China. If they’ve run under his prop- 
erty, they are taking his coal and imperilling 
his improvements. There’s no reason why there 
may not be a cave-in under his house, any more 
than under that place at Marlborough, the other 
day. There’s a grand piano two hundred feet 
under ground this very minute that the Company 
had to pay a pretty penny to keep from playing 
a tune they did not care to dance to.” 

“Yes, if Johnny would but stand on his rights 
he’d be a made man,” the Chief admitted. “It’s 
a point that has never been raised before, here, 
and it would be a benefit to the province to have 
it settled. If Johnny takes their beggarly five hun- 
dred and lets them go on, without a legal decision, 
it will be just that much worse for the next man. 
But five hundred in hand is a big sum for an easy- 
going chap like Halboard, that would never have 
had a foot of land to his name if it hadn’t been 
for his wife’s hard savings. I doubt if he can 
resist the temptation of hard cash. And it would 


96 


Kenelm’s Desire 


take a sack of money to fight the thing out. 
There’s but one man in British Columbia able to 
take it through; and the other side can pay him 
the bigger fee.” 

^‘You mean Hamilton? Yes, he’s the man. I 
believe, if the lawyer could be arranged for, there 
are enough of Johnny’s neighbors who wouldn’t be 
afraid to put up the court fees. You tell him to 
try. Tell him the law is plainly for him. If any 
lawyer advises him differently, it is because he is 
in the pay or under the influence of the Company. 
I know what I’m talking about. I’ve always seen 
that the question, must come up some day, and 
I’ve made a pretty exhaustive study of mineral 
rights. Tell him not to back down, and that I 
said so. He used to think that whatever I said, 
‘went.’” 

“Well, Kennie,” Auntie Mel said, coming down 
with the girls to bid him goodbye, “we are going 
to wait for Lydia. I kinda think she will come 
up, after all. I shouldn’t be surprised if I got a 
letter on my way home saying so. Then we’ll all 
go off together, like, and have a good time. I 
guess you can leave your musty-fusty old law- 
books to take care of one another for one while 
— eh?” 


CHAPTER IX 


IDEALS 

O NE golden after-tea-time, Desire, alone by 
chance, wandered to the piano and began 
an improvisation on the old, long-neglected 
Sheewin theme, as stimulus to her unready musi- 
cal imagination, which had unaccountably slum- 
bered since her coming, to the great scandal of 
her conscience. 

‘‘I thought you had forgotten that,’^ Kenelm 
said, when, after a time, she trailed off into dis- 
contented modulations, and he took form amid 
the dusky shadows of the doorway. Shall we 
paddle down opposite the Triangle? There’s 
going to be a band concert in the pavilion; it 
sounds fine on the water.” 

Desire caught up her cap and followed gaily to 
the boathouse. 

‘‘I wish it were to be the Indian band, but I 
suppose they never play real Indian airs? When 
am I to find that Indian music? I’m wasting 
lots of time. 

‘‘To-morrow night,” Kenelm answered, “Big 
John is going to give a potlach; a big one, too, 


97 


98 


Kenelm’s Desire 


and we’ll go, if you say so. There will be plenty 
of music of its kind. The Chief is sure to be 
there. He has influence with the Indians, and 
the authorities like to have him present at such 
times. They have to be pretty careful when 
these big gatherings take place, more on account 
of the white hoodlums than of the Indians. So 
the Chief and the boys and mother and you and 
I are sure of a good place if we want to go. Look 
over there,” he motioned in the direction of the 
Portage Canal, “and there, and there.” 

Desire looked and exclaimed. Through the 
Gap, rounding Black Point, emerging from the 
shadows of Friendship, Aberdeen and the various 
projections of their own island, she saw number- 
less canoes moving black, in threadlike lines 
across the gilded water, converging toward a 
point some distance to the left of the town 
front. 

“They are heading for the little beach at the 
Indian village,” Kenelm explained, “going to the 
potlach. Potlach means ^gift.’ A chief will save 
up for years to get together enough blankets and 
things to make a respectable potlach. He pro- 
vides special gifts for the people who have at 
other times laid him under the same kind of 
obligation; but the main feature of the affair is 
giving presents to those who have no such claim. 
Every soul at the gathering must go away the 
richer by something given without any idea of 


Ideals 


99 


conferring a favor or of repaying. That is why 
the feast is called a 'cultus’ potlach. ‘Cultus’ 
means Tree.’” 

^^And the music?” 

‘^Unless you hear it as an Indian, I am afraid 
you won’t draw much inspiration out of the In- 
dian music. In spite of my brown skin, I confess 
I like the white man’s music best.” 

She caught her breath at this renewed refer- 
ence to his race, but was reassured by the amused 
expression on his countenance. She dreaded to 
witness further unhappiness; it puzzled and dis- 
tressed her; besides jarring on her previous con- 
ception of Kenelm’s character. She decided that 
if he could refer so lightly to the subject, he could 
not feel as deeply in regard to it as she had im- 
agined. Perhaps it had been but a transitory 
mood, now forgotten. 

The amusement deepened, invading the tones 
of his voice. 

^‘When you think of it,” he resumed, pointing 
again to the arriving craft, ‘‘a canoe is typical of 
its inventors. It is long, slim, and dark; its swift 
motion is silent and sinuous; in peaceful weather 
it is a serviceable ally, but in storms — look out if 
you don’t want to be capsized!” 

‘^For mercy’s sake! Say something pleasant.” 

‘‘Well, how’s this? Naval experts say that 
the canoe is, of all sea-going vessels, the best 
shaped for resisting heavy seas, in proportion to its 

Lore. 


lOO 


Kenelm’s Desire 


weight and size. Also, that it has the greatest 
attained capacity compatible with its displace- 
ment.” 

‘‘Now, I suppose statistics are a man’s idea of 
being pleasant!” 

“There is but one emergency in life when it is 
a man’s duty to be pleasant; that’s when he’s 
having his picture taken.” 

“I wish I could have yours, this minute!” 
Then she could have bitten out her tongue. 

Not at the paddle, she sat facing him where 
he knelt, hatless and coatless, a bright silken 
scarf doing picturesque duty around his waist. 
She dropped her guilty eyes and played nervously 
with the pins of her hat, which she held in her 
lap. Kenelm laughed. 

“Never mind. Desire,” he said, “if I do look 
like a picturesque Siwash. I feel like kicking 
myself for making such a fool exhibition, that 
time. Now, you mustn’t think of it again. I 
can’t have you conscious and unhappy every 
time we stumble on the subject of Indians. I 
suppose I do look like a regular Native, out here 
in a canoe, bareheaded ; but you’ll look like one, 
too, before the summer is over, if we take all 
those trips we have planned. I am not ashamed 
of my blood. It stands in my way occasionally, 
perhaps, but I don’t mind putting up a pretty 
stiff fight to get what I want. And I’ll get it — 
you’ll see. So, just understand, we are going to 


Ideals 


lOI 


talk ‘Indian’ all summer, and you are on no 
account to be unhappy, or to take it into your 
head that I am. I never felt jollier in my life, 
with a whole summer ahead — and you. Now, 
that’s ‘true talk.’” 

Desire drew a deep breath of relief. 

“I am so glad. It’s dreadfully hard, having to 
use so much tact. I can’t enjoy myself when I 
must watch my words. You do look picturesque. 
If I were a painter, I should use you as a model 
for a chief. You would be so effective, draped in 
a red blanket to bring out the pale brown tints; 
and I’d emphasize your black eyes — ” 

“They’re not black!” He opened them wide 
in indignant refutation. Desire blushed violently. 

“Well — well — ” she stammered, “you know 
they’re not — just — blue!” 

“No,” Kenelm assented, paddling viciously a 
few strokes, while Desire hated herself. 

“Let’s call them hazel,” he cried at last, hold- 
ing up his paddle while he indulged in a mighty 
roar of laughter, eventually sweeping resistant 
Desire into the mid-current of his merriment. 

“There! I said I hadn’t any tact!” 

“You don’t need any. Be yourself and I’ll 
stand the consequences. If you don’t mind my 
darkness, why should I? And you don’t — do 
you?” 

“Yes, I do. I mind it immensely. I have 
always admired it, and I attribute all that is 


102 


Kenelm's Desire 


really fine and uncommon in you to your Indian 
inheritance. What you show of commonplace- 
ness and — and — ’’ 

‘^Crudity,” 

^^Yes,” timidly defiant, “I trace to your com- 
monplace surroundings. Heredity has been kinder 
to you than environment. It mortifies me and — 
degrades you when you undervalue it. If you 
had been just an ordinary Scotch-descended 
British Columbia boy I should not have liked 
you any better than the rest.’’ 

‘Hs that dead earnest?” 

‘‘That is dead earnest.” 

He paused, evidently with more on his tongue. 
“Can you imagine any circumstance, any what- 
ever, in which my dark blood would count against 
me, with you? Not here — out in the world.” 

“No,” sweetly haughty, “there are no such 
circumstances. I choose my friends by my own 
standard, irrespective of nationality. I shall al- 
ways be proud to introduce you anywhere as one.” 

“Think carefully; no single situation — stop!” 
he implored, as she opened her lips to protest, 
“think a full minute, and then tell me in plain 
honesty — and friendship — if in regard to every 
possibility of life I stand with you on an equal 
footing with white men.” 

“Absolutely, yes.” 

A great war-canoe swept up abreast, its four- 
and-twenty paddles flashing in accurate motion. 


Ideals 


103 


its four-and-twenty bronzed faces reflecting a 
broadly sheepish grin in recognition of Kenelm’s 
hail in Chinook. 

‘‘That’s Chief Nanaimo and his band. He’s 
a great old chum of mine.” 

The canoe was carved with admirable skill 
from the trunk of a gigantic fir, had accommoda- 
tions for two dozen paddles, and cross-pieces so 
lowered as to form seats, which obviated the 
necessity of kneeling; a position made impracti- 
cable by the height of the sides and the narrow 
angle in the mid-line of the bottom, where there 
was no true floor. The prow rose high and stately, 
carved into a rudely effective fox’s head, and 
freshly painted in gorgeous reds, yellows and blues. 

“He seems sociably inclined.” 

“He is laughing about this new canoe. It’s 
the first time he has ever seen me in anything 
but a dugout. The last time I met him he told 
me my dugout wasn’t big enough for two. Miss 
Edwards and I came across him out by Lizard 
Island. I suppose he remembers it.” 

“Indeed! I’ve been informed that I am only 
one of a series,” demurely. 

Kenelm looked surprised, then wrathful. 

“Who told you that?” 

“Oh, somebody who knows. But I am quite 
satisfied to be in the canoe on any terms.” 

Kenelm fell into one of his silences and Desire 
looked saucily unconscious. 


104 


Kenelm's Desire 


must have been Allie/’ he said, five minutes 
later, more than a trifle sulkily. 

“What must?” 

“The one who said that. You shouldn’t mind 
anything she says.” 

“But,” with innocency, “I didn’t mind.” 

“Oh!” another silence. 

“What a funny little boy you must have been!” 

‘ ^ Why ? ’ ’ bewildered . 

“I can imagine just how you’d go off in a sulk, 
when you were spunky.” 

“But that did not happen very often,” he 
pleaded. “Usually I am too good-natured.” 

“But when you are not, there isn’t much use 
coaxing you.” 

“I do get sullen, at times,” he admitted, “and 
I’m a number one hater.” 

“Please don’t ever hate me!” 

“No danger of that. But don’t listen to such 
nonsense. Allie isn’t altogether responsible.” 

“So it is nonsense — to have someone along in 
the canoe?” 

He laughed out again, serene. 

“Well, there have been several girls in this 
canoe, new as it is, I must admit. You see she 
is such a beauty — and I am the crack canoer. 
But I suppose a series is safer than always to 
have gone with one.” 

“Safer!” 

“Yes, less danger of being caught.” 


Ideals 


loS 

Pray, don’t ever use that expression again! It 
is horrid!” 

He paused, as he often did before answering 
her outbursts. When he spoke, he chose his 
words with care. 

‘^You must make allowances for me. I know 
I am crude, but I’ve never learned to speak of 
such things right, even in joking. Graceful words 
come easily to you, because you have not lived 
among coarse thoughts and vulgar expressions. 
The thing we young people talk the most about 
and know the least how to express in words, is 
. . . love.” He hesitated and his voice softened. 
‘‘So you must make allowances.” 

Desire had long noticed this fact. The life of 
the island was frankly elemental; as it is wont to 
be in places near to the virgin activities of nature. 

“I’ve never talked much about it,” she said, 
shyly. 

“And,” Kenelm went on, “I was not talking 
about love, then. The few girls I know are just 
good, sensible girls. Two or three are school- 
teachers. Some of them don’t dislike a mild 
flirtation; but as I don’t particularly dislike that, 
either, no harm is done.” 

Desire felt uncomfortable. Kenelm was differ- 
ent in many ways from what she remembered 
him at twenty. Broader and stronger, certainly, 
but of less delicate sensitiveness, she thought; 
less poetic and more irritable. The difference 


io6 Kenelm’s Desire 

puzzled and proved faintly distasteful; she wasn’t 
sure she liked him as well. 

‘‘I don’t know about flirtations, either,” she 
responded, provokingly. ^‘How much wider your 
experiences have been than mine.” 

‘‘I am glad you don’t,” he replied, sobering. 
“Most girls know all about it too young. It robs 
them of their freshness. The nicest girls are not 
so well up in it, to my notion.” 

They floated in silence, homeward, past the 
town; Desire at a loss how to conduct such a 
conversation, slightly resenting the turn it had 
taken; Kenelm lost in revery. 

“Shall I tell you my little love-story?” he 
asked, rousing, but with dreaminess still in the 
lowered tones of his voice. 

Desire sat bolt upright. “Yes, do!” she urged. 

“It isn’t much of a story. There was a girl 
in High School. She was different to the rest; 
rather pretty and quiet and modest; but she 
wasn’t stupid. I thought she was perfect; and I 
guess she was about as near to it as they ever get. 
Then I liked the way she did her hair, and the 
manner of her dress. I couldn’t describe it, but 
she always looked exactly right, no matter what 
she had on. I suppose I could have got ac- 
quainted with her, but although I was always 
cutting up with the rest, I never dared to go 
near her. She seemed so far above me. In 
three years I spoke to her twice. If I live to 


Ideals 


107 

be a hundred I shall never forget the first time. 
She was alone in the hall, and she dropped her 
algebra. I happened to come in and picked it 
up for her. She thanked me. Well, that was all, 
but I can’t tell you how I felt. My heart beat so 
fast I could hardly breathe. After we left school 
I got to know her better. We belonged to the 
same tramping club and got friendly, but I did 
not want people to talk, so I paid her no special 
attention and never voluntarily spoke of her at 
any time. If anyone tried to talk her over with 
me I made some commonplace remark about her 
being a nice girl, and nobody ever suspected ; she 
least of all. But I could feel every move she 
made, even if I were at the other side of the room 
or in a crowd with my back turned. My senses 
are very keen. She was kind, there’s no doubt, 
but I never misunderstood her friendliness nor 
took advantage of it; for I always felt that she 
wasn’t for me. That was the reason I was so 
careful not to get her talked about. Much as I 
loved her, I never once thought of her as my — 
wife. So I gradually kept more and more away, 
and before I heard she was married I had become 
resigned to living without her. Nobody ever 
knew.” 

“Then she is married?” 

“Yes. I won’t say I did not feel bad when I 
heard of it, but that was the fault of my chum. 
He told me of her engagement, and then he said, 


io8 


Kenelm’s Desire 


careless-like, ^Do you know, Ken, there was a 
time when that girl thought a lot of you ? Every- 
one said so/ I told him he was all out, there, 
and passed it off in that way. But I’d rather 
he’d have knocked me senseless. I felt dazed, as 
though someone had struck me a heavy blow. It 
wasn’t true, what he said, but I wished he hadn’t 
spoken. It wasn’t so. But I’m not sure it would 
have made any difference. I think, now, that it 
wasn’t so much that I loved her for herself, as 
that she embodied my ideal.” 

‘‘Does she yet?” 

“Well,” tenderly, “if I ever do marry ... I 
hope . . . my wife will be something like her. 
She was all the world to me for four years.” 
He stopped to laugh, softly. “She married before 
I was twenty.” 

It was in quite a different mood that Kenelm, 
the next evening, watched with open envy the 
dance of endurance at the Potlach. 

Leaping Elk, tallest and straightest of the 
young bucks, showed early signs of superiority. 
As his competitors flagged, by so much did the 
marvels of his agility increase; his leaps grew 
higher, his whoops more resounding, and the 
wide-spreading antlers of his mask cast huge, 
threatening shadows as they rose and fell with 
the increasing elasticity and vigor of each up- 
ward vault, when one after another his competi- 
tors had sunk exhausted to the ground. 


Ideals 


109 


say! I wish I could do that!’’ Kenelm 
cried, boyishly, when, dancing alone at last, a 
thousand eyes focussed on his flying moccasins. 
Leaping Elk gave a bound to surpass all previous 
exertions, emitted a whoop which rang shrill 
above the clangor of the two hundred chanters, 
and then subsided — to bear, with becoming 
stolidity, his honors as hero of the feast. 

All the Indian stirred beneath Kenelm’ s 
swarthy skin. 

‘‘I must keep up my work at the gym,” he 
said, glowing with emulation. ^ ‘ I’ll never be satis- 
fied until I can give a leap as high as that last 
big bound of the Elk.” 

Desire smiled, in the dark. 

‘^Another ideal?” she ventured, saucily. 


CHAPTER X 


IN CAMP 

B efore many days the camping party (in- 
cluding all of both families except gran’pa, 
gran’ma and the Chief) crossed over to 
Friendship and pitched their tents. There were 
four men; a certain barrister, newly arrived in 
British Columbia, was Kenelm’s special guest. 
He was understood to be considering the proposi- 
tion of becoming Kenelm’s legal associate. Since 
his final examinations, safely passed in June, 
Kenelm found himself fairly face to face with 
his professional career. 

Angus McLeod, against Kenelm’ s will, was a 
guest; also, young Maddox, Jessie’s private 
property. 

By supper time, what with fried fresh fish, 
browned crisp in yellow meal, brittle rashers of 
bacon, platters of smoking baked potatoes, and 
big white loaves from home, followed by heaps 
of the wild purple salal berries for dessert, camp- 
ing promised a happy existence to the hungry 
crowd gathered around the rough plank table. 


TTO 


In Camp 


III 


The berries attested the industry of Lydia, 
Althea, Mr. Robert Lanahan — the barrister — and 
Angus McLeod, who early in the afternoon had 
wandered off in search of them; Althea and 
McLeod going first. 

Lydia, on hearing their plan, had proposed a 
similar expedition to Mr. Lanahan, left Elbridge 
with Auntie Mel and managed with such gen- 
eralship that before out of hearing of camp the 
two pairs were picnicing in company; McLeod 
not loath, Althea too good-natured and secure of 
the potency of her own charm to resent this inter- 
ference with the original pairing off. 

McLeod’s intermittent flirtation with Lydia 
dated back to the summer of Desire’s first visit. 

He could never really have cared for her, but 
he had a very pretty knack at making love. Na- 
ture had especially endowed him for that purpose 
with the brightest of colors and the most gracious 
of masculine curves, developed to their fullest 
by the health-giving outdoor life and athletic 
sports for which he was fortunate enough to 
entertain an enthusiasm. 

He enjoyed making love. Indeed, his love- 
making propensity, native and cultivated, was so 
marked and, despite a widely varied experience, 
still brought him such ingenuous delight as to 
charm even the slightly satiated Lydia. Lydia 
understood how to interest and amuse men — of 
his type. 


1 12 K^nelm’s Desire 

“Don’t you ever let a man imagine you think 
too much of him,” she continually admonished Al- 
thea. “Make them have a good time, and don’t 
be too squeamish, or you’ll frighten them off. 
But don’t let them get it into their heads you’re 
dead in love with them — or you’re gone! They 
get so conceited you can’t do a thing with them, 
and they get tired. Never let a man get tired of 
you. Keep them jollied up, but don’t let them 
come too close. Men always want what’s just 
out of reach. When they get it, ten to one they 
are tired of it in a month.” 

Althea lacked her aunt’s strong mental fibre; 
but so far, no one of her numerous flirtations had 
touched her heart. 

There had been a germ of truth in certain 
insinuations relative to Althea and Kenelm, 
which Lydia had been at some pains to make 
to Desire. Kenelm, however, had never sus- 
pected. 

For years he had been Althea’s monitor. He 
earnestly hated to see his pretty cousin wander a 
foot’s width from the curb of what he considered 
the path of propriety; and she kept closer to 
the prescribed footway from an unacknowledged 
hope that some day he might walk there by her 
side. 

This misty feeling would have vanished early 
had Kenelm shown any inclination elsewhere, but 
his early experience with Desire had rendered 


In Camp 


113 

him impervious to similar influences, so that up 
to now he had appeared to care more for Althea 
than for any other girl. 

But when, this spring, a possibility of Desire’s 
return had risen, his happiness had dispelled such 
faint illusion as Althea had cherished. 

Impelled by the historic instinct, she had 
turned, gropingly, to the church to satisfy her 
craving for emotion. That experiment had proved 
unlucky, and had driven her weak nature to take 
refuge in pleasure. 

McLeod’s attentions, offered at intervals, she 
had hitherto slighted, in deference to Kenelm’s 
dislike of the young beau’s moral standards. 
Now she encouraged them because they filled an 
uncomfortable void; because they gratified her 
vanity, and because they annoyed Kenelm; be- 
cause too, he was the handsomest fellow, the 
boldest flirt and undeniably the best ‘‘catch” in 
town. 

“Ken, you’re all right!” Althea had called out 
on their return, to find Kenelm assisting Desire 
to set the table. “You’re the kind of a fellow 
I’m going to get hold of, some day. He’ll have 
to wash and cook and wash dishes and do like 
gran’pa — mend his own clothes.” 

“Gran’pa doesn’t have any fimble when he 
sews,” Elbridge remarked in corroboration. “But 
I ain’t going to get married ’tall, when I grow up 
— have to spend all my money buying fings for 


1 14 Kenelm’s Desire 

my wife!” Elbridge had not entirely outgrown 
his baby tricks of pronunciation. 

Good for you, lad 1 ” McLeod said. But what 
will you do for a wife if you don’t get married?” 

“Oh, I’ll dust go boat-widin’ wiv other people’s 
wives, like you do.” 

During the resultant shout of laughter Althea 
turned a good-naturedly accusing glance on Mc- 
Leod. She had not heard of such boat-ride; the 
reticence seemed significant. Kenelm glanced 
sternly at Lydia. 

Maddox appeared with Jess, her arms piled 
high with long, swaying boughs of the white wild 
syringa, now loaded with odorous bloom. Jess 
had grown glowingly handsome. Maddox was 
very evidently under the spell of her gorgeous- 
ness. Poor Maddox! Young, pale-blonde, with 
a heart-killing mustache and a precarious fifty 
dollars a month, in an outlying district school, 
upon which to support its luxuriance. He pos- 
sessed an honest heart, and failed not to assure 
himself, frequently, of the impossibility of falling 
in love on his present pecuniary basis. 

The group around the beach fire that night 
fell naturally into couples. Among the men the 
talk turned on the Halboard coal claim, which 
Kenelm had discussed often and earnestly with 
the Chief. 

“Halboard hasn’t a ghost of a show,” Mr. 
Lanahan asserted. “I have seen the deed and it 


In Camp 


IIS 

amounts to little more than the right to live on 
the land until told to get off. All mineral rights 
are reserved, and there is a condition that he 
must resell at the demand of the Company.’’ 

‘^But Halboard refuses the deed and holds by 
the original contract, which is unconditional. He 
says he would not have agreed to anything less 
than a transfer of the fee simple, and on that 
understanding the payments were made.” 

‘^Precious few payments up to the coal dis- 
covery.” 

‘^Nevertheless, the money was tendered and 
received under the terms of the original contract. 
The deed was then made out, which he refused 
to accept. I believe his case is a strong one, 
properly handled. It’s all bosh for the Company 
to say that their agent was not empowered to 
make such a contract. Halboard cannot be held 
responsible for the agent’s errors.” 

“The Company have retained Hamilton of 
Vancouver.” 

“Hamilton! I said they would get him first. 
Still, I’d like to see somebody put up a good fight 
for Halboard,” Kenelm persisted. “Hamilton is 
a big gun, but in my opinion he’ll lack the right 
ammunition.” 

“Why don’t you go in for that, now you’re 
called ? I couldn’t afford to risk anything on it, 
but you’d find it good practise, and I could 
advise.” 


ii6 


Kenelm’s Desire 


“I would, too, quick, if I got the chance. Hedl 
want experience, though. We young chaps can’t 
expect the big cases yet a while.” 

‘‘I confess, I’d rather see you make your start 
in something more promising,” Lanahan replied, 
dogmatically. 

The big drift-logs had burned through in places 
and had fallen apart, with fitful pyrotechnic dis- 
play; the illuminated great semicircle of sleeping 
water at their feet grew a duskier pink. Jess 
picked up drooping Elbridge and propped his 
eyelids open with her thumbs. 

‘^Somebody’s dreaming,” she said. 

“What are dreams?” Maddox asked, senti- 
mentally. 

“Why, don’t you know?” Elly replied, eluding 
Jessie’s teasing thumbs and stretching his blue 
eyes open ostentatiously to show how wide awake 
he was, “They’re the fings you see wiv sleepy 
eyes.” 


CHAPTER XI 


THE NARROWS 

‘‘T“^ON’T go outside the harbor, Kennie,’’ 
I J pleaded Mrs. Fraser, intercepting them 
on their way to the boathouse. ‘Ht 
frightens me so. Stay inside.’^ 

‘‘We’ll come inside if the waves get up,” he 
said, shortly. And, had the wind not dropped 
suddenly when they were opposite the narrow 
strait, Kenelm would certainly not have ventured ; 
for there was a tremendous swell on and the 
big waves raced in from the gulf with stately 
swiftness. 

Desire shrieked with delight when the first of 
these rollers swept under her bow, raising her 
high above the surrounding white-flecked, undu- 
lating plain. 

“ That’s the way to take them,” Kenelm 
shouted gleefully. “ A dugout takes them 
straight ahead and mounts like a duck, on ac- 
count of the long, curved bow; but a Peter- 
borough, like this, is built for speed. It has a 
comparatively short but very sharp bow, that 
cuts into the waves like a knife. If we had taken 


ii8 Kenelm’s Desire 

that wave head-on, we should have split straight 
into the heart of it and been swamped; or if it 
had struck us broadside we should have cap- 
sized in a twinkling. You have to watch each 
wave as it comes and take it quartering. See 
this big fellow. Now — paddle!^’ 

Desire bent to her work. Before three strokes 
she was poised higher in the air than before. 
Kenelm, in the stern, got less of the delicious 
upward swing. Before she could give verbal 
vent to her exhilaration he called sharply, “Look 
out! There’s another!” 

Another, indeed! Unnoticed by either, the 
wind had strengthened as suddenly as it had 
fallen, and now blew a stiff breeze which hurried 
the billows in pursuit of each other in a bewil- 
dering fashion. 

“Keep steady,” Kenelm warned. “I’ll do the 
steering, but don’t lose a stroke, or the canoe 
won’t trim right. Now! Two big fellows! Don’t 
lose your head. We’re all right.” 

He issued these instructions after a hurried cal- 
culation of the danger to be encountered attempt- 
ing to turn in the boisterous sea. To expose the 
side of the canoe for a single instant to the attack 
of the on-coming waves would certainly mean to 
capsize her; good swimmer as he was, he knew 
he should be helpless with the big sea on. 

“It all depends on Desire,” he concluded, 
critically surveying her slender but resolute back. 


The Narrows 


119 

‘‘If she doesn’t weaken her stroke I guess we can 
manage to ride them.” 

So it meant Black Point or disaster — or both. 

Once around in the lee of Sabellita Island they 
should be safe; the problem was, to get around. 

Black Point has a long, treacherous spit, run- 
ning out just beneath the water surface; its con- 
figuration was now pretty clearly outlined by the 
boiling white water which covered its reefs and 
snags. 

“Are you getting tired?” he asked. 

“My right arm feels used up. May I change 
sides?” 

“On no account! Don’t let it get tired! We’ve 
got to keep her headed out as much as possible 
to escape the reef at Black Point. If you change 
sides, the canoe will spin around like a top. Can 
you hold out?” 

“Oh, yes, if I must.” 

“You must, this time. It’s only for a few 
minutes.” 

“I suppose, if we tip over,” Kenelm thought 
inconsequently, “everybody’ll say, ‘Captain Ken 
was only a smooth- water sailor, after all. ’ ” The 
idea mortified him. 

“Harder!” he called, with deliberate steadi- 
ness of tone. 

Desire’s arm ached fiercely, but she now un- 
derstood their peril. With each descent into the 
lathery trough of the sea, the next-coming wave- 


120 


Kenelm’s Desire 


giant looked more insurmountable. But when 
they had ridden, time after time, up the rounded 
sides of the glassy monsters. Desire’s courage rose 
and strengthened, while her confidence in the skill 
of her steersman increased. She learned how to 
economize the small remnant of her strength. As 
soon as the watery leviathan had poked his snout 
fairly beneath her bow and she felt the upward 
slide beginning, she released her fierce pressure 
the faintest bit; at the highest point of the wave 
she did little more than mark time with her 
blade. 

Thus, up and down, up and down, for minutes 
that must have exceeded the quarter-hour. 

All at once came a swift swirl of coarse foam, 
a sharp cry from behind, a violent throwing of 
her whole weight on the handle and a quick 
release from pressure. 

“We’ve rounded the Point!” was the exultant 
call. “Don’t let up. Watch the waves.” But 
oh, her arm had grown limp 1 What rest — to be 
rocking safely on the straight, calm run, in the 
lee of wave-chiselled Sabellita! 

“ Are you worn out ? ” Kenelm asked, anxiously. 

“N-no,” vaguely. 

“Sea-sick?” 

“I don’t know. Perhaps I’m going to be. But 
I am not really sick.” 

“Can you hold out until we get across to 
Sabellita?” 


The Narrows 


I2I 


‘'I think so — oh, no! I can’t! Not a minute!” 

A quarter of an hour later, Desire, her foot on 
solid earth, could laugh, although from her right 
thumb both layers of skin had been worn quite 
away; the denuded surface required solicitous 
manipulation by her remorseful companion. 

It was an attractive, white, well-shaped hand; 
not so tapering as Lydia’s, but showing more 
character; with better muscular development, to 
make up for its comparative lack of softness. 

‘‘It looks a strong hand,” Kenelm said. “I 
suppose piano practise has brought up the mus- 
cle. And it’s a brave hand.” 

He had finished bandaging. Desire wished, 
uneasily, that he would put it down, but felt the 
awkwardness of appearing to notice the delay. 

Before she could decide, it had thrilled an in- 
stant against his warm brown cheek; had been 
relinquished with a rough sigh, sharply drawn, 
like the first intaken breath of a sob. 

She sprang up. “We must start, if we expect 
to make The Narrows,” she said, confusedly. 

They launched the canoe in silence, and, quite 
fresh again, paddled the smooth, sheltered miles 
to Hobbs Island; a pretty, rounded, fir-covered 
mound of greenery, its wooded shores rising 
fifty or sixty feet in gentle undulations, except on 
the side which gives on the strait. Here it drops 
precipitously, and the opposite shore forms an 
even steeper declivity. 


122 


Kenelm's Desire 


wonder if we could get back, once 
through?” Kenelm debated, as they hovered 
longingly in front of the mouth of the contracted 
gorge. 

Owing to Desire’s unfortunate attack of sea- 
sickness they had reached the strait ten minutes 
too late. The tide had turned, and their ten- 
mile trip was in all probability vain, so far as 
making the passage out and back and seeing the 
whirlpools was concerned. 

‘^It doesn’t look bad — see!” 

A graceful stag rustled out of the bushes. He 
paused, his antlered head thrown back, to gaze 
superbly at the insignificant intruders in the frail 
canoe below. Apparently satisfying himself of 
their harmlessness, he leaped down the bank into 
the water just beyond the gentle white roll which 
Kenelm had pointed out as the danger spot, and 
swam boldly in a diagonal line across the strait, 
leaving the water on the Hobbs Island side at 
the outer extremity of the passage, where a soft 
slope almost met the water’s edge. 

‘‘See how well he understands,” Kenelm cried 
admiringly. “He swims with the tide and while 
it is at the very full. Later he would not find 
easy landing, even over there, after the water had 
fallen. He would run the risk of being swept out 
to sea. The fall of the tide is stronger after it 
has fairly started downward.” 

“He had to make a leap to get out, as it was.” 


The Narrows 


123 

^^Yes, it wasn’t easy. I wonder if Leaping Elk 
ever tried to swim this place.” 

“Why should he?” 

“Oh, just to see if he could.” 

A drift-log which had been pursuing an even 
course through the strait now swerved gently end- 
wise, like a needle obeying a magnet, and started 
in toward a small bay about midway the passage. 

“Watch it work through the eddy.” 

It never got through. The eddy is a strong, 
superficially placid whirlpool. The advancing end 
of the log went under, then with a sudden flurry 
the whole log — so quickly that involuntarily Desire 
rubbed her eyes to be sure she saw clearly. 

“Now, watch it come up.” 

Fascinated, she gazed at the again languid cir- 
cular turning of the waveless water until, with 
another momentary flurry, the eddy gave up its 
victim — an outspread mass of crushed bark and 
mangled fibres, huddling out at the edge, to be 
washed inertly up and down against the nearest 
island shore. 

“What did that?” Desire asked, shuddering. 

“I don’t quite know. Some years ago a canoe 
of ten Indians got caught in that eddy — and 
that is what happened. They must have been 
drunk, though, for it’s no trouble to pass, if you 
steer clear.” 

The surface of the strait stood, to all appear- 
ance, perfectly flat; so still as to look like oil. 


124 


Kenelm^s Desire 


The murmur of the rapids barring the entrance 
sounded sleepy and distant. 

‘^Well, what shall we do?’’ 

“Whatever you say.” 

“Are you afraid?” 

“Not unless you are.” 

“Can you hold out to paddle as you did at 
Black Point? 

“Yes, I can hold out. If we don’t dare come 
back we can go the other way round, I suppose, 
if it does make us late.” 

“All right, here goes. Paddle gently, just 
enough to keep in the middle so as not to get 
caught in the big eddy.” 

They went over the rapids with a gentle shock, 
then glided serenely amidst tiny eddies which 
formed, whirled and broke dizzily on all sides of 
their boat, but too small to exert any appreciable 
force. 

“What makes them?” 

“The turn of the tide and the conflict of the 
currents. They do n6 harm.” 

Kenelm felt not altogether easy, in spite of 
the smoothness of the outward passage. Before 
they had fairly reached the exit he turned back. 
Paddling was still easy, although the canoe felt 
heavier. 

“I wonder,” Desire said, “if anyone could get 
out of this water, once in. The stag swam across. 
I should think Leaping Elk might.” 


The Narrows 


12 $ 


Leaping Elk^s best chance, if he felt his canoe 
going, would be to leap straight up and catch hold 
of a rock or root or berry bush to pull himself up 
by. It would have to be his biggest leap, and I 
don’t know about the amount of resistance he 
could get out of his boat for the spring. He 
would have to pick his place, too, and not be in 
the whirlpool. The Hobbs Island side would be 
his only chance. There! ahead of us, just this 
side of the rapids, is a projecting rock.” 

‘‘But what is there above it to climb by?” 

“Little, besides thirty feet or so of nearly 
straight up and down rocks and earth. He 
wouldn’t have much show, unless he could go 
up like a caterpiller. However — he’s an Indian.” 

Desire had not time to examine the indicated 
path of escape, for Kenelm warned her to make 
ready to “dig.” 

She obeyed, without particular excitement; 
they traversed uneventfully almost the whole dis- 
tance back; in effect, were once more at the en- 
trance with but that narrow, feathery roll ahead, 
somewhat larger, foamier and more noisy than 
when it had given them the soft jolt on entering. 

“Now — hard!” 

Three sweeps of the paddle, and they were in 
the midst of it, beating back the foam with rapid 
strokes, each of which carried the forward-flung 
momentum of the whole body. Like automatons 
they tore at the water until it loosened its grip 


126 


Kenelm’s Desire 


and the bow rode once more high above a swell- 
ing surface of oleaginous green. 

Another stroke to assure herself, then Desire 
flung her paddle upward with a shout of triumph. 

“Don’t stop — for God’s sake!” 

That instant’s release had lost much of what 
they had fought to acquire. As the lather 
wrapped once more about the backward slipping 
bow, it was met by blow succeeding blow, each 
of which brought Desire’s head to the edge of 
the canoe. This time they were longer in get- 
ting free. Desire’s sense of danger was intensi- 
fied by Kenelm’s audible breathing and lack of 
words. 

“Don’t let up until I tell you to,” he instructed 
when they were once more free of the perilous 
wave-roll. She looked around at the quiet sea, 
but obediently bent to her paddle with, she 
thought, no relaxation of effort. 

“Harder! We are going back. Watch that 
rock.” 

A fresh shock of apprehension! She noted a 
rocky projection, passed immediately on their es- 
cape from the foam, now glide stealthily forward. 

“It is the sweep of the tide. It strengthens 
•constantly,” gasped Kenelm. Later, “But we are 
holding our own.” 

Not a wave broke the greasy surface of the 
sea; as smoothly as irresistibly the great mass of 
water drew in to the narrow channel of its exit. 


The Narrows 


127 


Desire felt as though the whole Gulf of Georgia 
were sliding down hill, and that she was striving 
ineffectually to climb up the slippery, descending 
mass. The quietude of the tremendous opera- 
tion was its most appalling feature. 

She worked frenziedly. To be swept back- 
ward into the rapids might at any moment be 
fatal. The time for repassing the eddy had gone 
by. The canoe must be pushed against the tide 
harder than the tide was pushing against the 
canoe; that was the task set for them. 

“Gaining! Don’t ease up.” 

The rock stood once more behind her elbow. 
But it would not go out of sight. They hung, 
violently paddling, in one spot for several tense 
minutes, then Kenelm made the experiment of 
slanting their course toward the opposite shore. 
They lost in turning, but moved the canoe. 

“Don’t stop. Harder!” 

Harder was impossible Soon, “ Gaining ! 
Gaining!” 

Desire could now mark their sluggish progress by 
the long point running out from the opposite shore. 
She saw that, while barely perceptible at any given 
moment, their advance had been continuous. 

Ten minutes passed before the point was 
gained; then the banks proved too steep for 
landing. Kenelm turned once more toward the 
Hobbs Island side. Well away from the mouth 
of the strait, it still taxed to the full their dimin- 


128 


Kenelm’s Desire 


ished muscular power to prevent being carried 
in by the soundless sweep of the tide. 

In the end, they found themselves safe in a 
cozy bay on the north side of the peninsula de- 
fining the channel entrance. Desire, impressed 
by Kenelm’s silence, glanced over her shoulder. 
He leaned back, paddling mechanically, his face 
haggard and his chest heaving with short, con- 
vulsive breaths. 

She jumped out first and tried to do every- 
thing at once; but he quietly put her to one side, 
fastened the canoe, took out the cushions and 
lunch basket and doggedly led the way up hill, 
then down, to an elfin bower some thirty feet 
straight up from the rapids, which had increased 
in ferocity and in size. 

‘‘No chance now, down there,’’ he said. “Leap- 
ing Elk would have to jump for it, sure, if he 
should happen to get caught this late in the 
game. ” 

He settled the cushions and lunch basket with 
exasperating precision before he sat down; then 
he rested his left elbow on the ground, chin on 
his left hand, in his customary attitude, and 
stared enthralled at the deadly swirl of water 
down beneath. 

“Are you breathing better?” she asked, toss- 
ing off her cap to feel the cool air on her heated 
forehead. 

He smilingly extended his right wrist for her 


The Narrows 


129 


investigation. Daunted, Desire’s fingers fluttered 
ineffectually some seconds before she got them 
adjusted directly over the pulse-spot. 

Hardly had she pressed down on the brown 
skin before she felt a sharp leap of the blood- 
wave, which came up like a hammer blow against 
her finger tips. In the same instant he curved 
his wrist and imprisoned her agitated hand. With- 
out a word he bent down and pressed his face 
against the fluttering captive. 

Don’t!” she breathed. 

‘‘Listen! You know I love you. I’ve been 
telling you so for days.” 

Desire could find no words in which to inter- 
pret the rush of new emotion which invaded her. 
When she attempted to withdraw her hand he 
pressed it closer; now he had kissed it, linger- 
ingly. This frightened her still more, scattering 
the words that had begun to formulate upon her 
tongue. 

“I have always loved you, even before I saw 
you. When I loved that other girl it was the you 
in her. I knew you as soon as you came. I 
said you were not for me, and yet I knew that 
you would always be in my life. I locked 
you up in my heart. If you were never to come 
back, I should live and accomplish for you, just 
the same. I worked it all out, one night, up on 
the old mountain top.” 

Desire was crying, silently. He did not see. 


130 


Kenelm’s Desire 


“It was not so hard — then — it was happi- 
ness, until you came back. Then I learned what 
it was to suffer. Not just once and over with, 
as I did before; but every day, and every night, 
and every hour.’^ 

A choked sob caused him to look up. Both his 
arms went around her waist; he held her close, 
resting his cheek against her disordered hair. 

“Don’t cry. It did not last so very long. The 
night before the Potlach you told me I had the 
right to win you. I made up my mind then not 
to give over until you were mine. I shouldn’t 
have spoken so soon, I know, but — you care for 
me. Desire? Not in my way, perhaps, just yet 
— not as much — but I have always known you 
could — care — I shouldn’t have said that — you 
are angry — ” 

She had freed herself; sat sobbing violently, 
her hands pressed over her eyes, her whole slim 
body erect, defensive. 

“Desire!” he demanded harshly, “is it not so? 
Do you not love me?” 

“No — oh, no!” 

The long silence frightened her. She dropped 
her hands from her face, but he did not speak. 
Shyly she raised her heavy eyelids — what had 
happened — was he dead ? 

She bent over him, screaming. For the first 
time he remained deaf to her voice. He lay back 
inertly against a mass of ferns; in her noisy agi- 


The Narrows 


131 

tation she had not heard the short, muffled fall. 
His face was gray-brown, his half-closed eyes 
black from the full dilatation of the pupils. 

Desire seized his limp hands. 

‘‘Kenelm!’’ she urged, ‘‘wake! wake!’’ 

Something must be done. Forcibly collecting 
scattered memories of what she had heard in re- 
gard to fainting, she removed the ferns from 
under his head to lower it, rushed to the basket, 
tore off the cover and found the water jug. Be- 
fore her return he had moved. 

“Desire!” he whispered. She bent to listen. 
“It is I.” 

“Are you going — away?” 

“No, no,” soothingly. “Here is some water. 
Drink it.” 

“You won’t go away — this summer — you are 
sure?” 

“No, of course not. Drink this.” 

“You promise?” 

“Yes,” impatiently, “if you will drink this 
water.” 

He put it to his lips. His thoughts cleared 
rapidly. He laughed to reassure her, attempting 
to rise. She put her hands on his shoulders, 
forcing him back. 

“I am the doctor,” she insisted gaily. “You 
called me in, so you must mind. Don’t raise 
your head until I give you leave.” 

He obeyed, took a hearty draught of the water 


132 


Kenelm’s Desire 


and lay quiet, while Desire saw the ashiness 
begin to fade from the suddenly accentuated 
outlines of his face. She watched the clear, 
rich brown reestablish itself. 

“Are you better?” 

“I am perfectly well — and happy. Tell me. 
Is it my brown skin? Be honest.” 

She tried to be honest. It is hard to be alto- 
gether honest — with one’s self. 

“If I say it is not, you will think I am chang- 
ing my mind.” 

“No. If you loved me as I do you, would the 
Indian blood count?” 

This, she thought, she could answer with a 
clear conscience. The idea of loving him was so 
unalterably foreign. “No.” 

“Then nothing else matters, except that you 
keep your promise not to go home until the end 
of the summer.” 

“But you frightened me, or I would not have 
promised.” 

“A broken promise needs no excuse,” haughtily. 

“How hard you are. Did you never break 
your word?” 

“Never; and never shall.” 

“ If I stay — and — do not — think — as you 
— do — will you blame me ?” 

“Not in the least. I shoulder all the responsi- 
bility. If I fail, I shall have lived through one sum- 
mer beside you. That is not much to ask out of 


The Narrows 


133 


your life. I will take the bitter with the sweet. If 
I am never to have any more, don’t grudge me 
this. Give me my chance and my summer. If I 
don’t prove that you can love me — for you can, 
Desire — the fault will be mine and I shall deserve 
the penalty. Perhaps it is just as well I spoke 
to-day. You might have gone blindly on, mis- 
understanding me and having no opportunity 
to understand yourself, to the very end of your 
stay; then I should have had no time left to 
convince you. But you were made to love me, 
and you will.” 

^‘It is as though I did not understand your 
language. I can’t feel anything you say.” 

^‘Some day you will. Thank God, you have 
never loved anyone else!” 

‘‘How do you know?” curiously. 

“If you had, you would understand me. You 
would have known without my telling.” 

Desire blushed with vexation. “You do not 
understand girls,” she announced with finality. 

He sat straight up to gaze at her adoringly. 

“Desire, if you don’t stop looking so sweet and 
making those distracting little speeches. I’ll faint 
again and not come to until you promise to marry 
me — to-morrow 1 ” 

“I don’t think that’s nice of you,” she said, 
resentfully, opening the basket with a clatter. 
“If you are well enough to build the fire, 
I’m of the opinion it is high time to make 


134 


ICenelm’s Desire 


coffee. We shall both need it for the home 
trip.’’ 

“Lucky I woke up before you wasted all that 
jug of water on me,” he remarked, on his way 
to obey her behest. 


CHAPTER XII 


LADY PELLEY 

T he day Mr. Alexander did the Provincial 
Mining Company’s honors for Lady Pelley, 
he included in his itinerary on Friendship 
Island the Fraser beach-encampment. 

Lady Pelley was the distinguished guest of her 
distant kinsman, Mr. James Hamilton, leading 
barrister of Vancouver. She had stopped over, 
as she expressed it, on her return from Algiers 
to her native Scotland, to visit her married 
daughter at Victoria and her cousin James Ham- 
ilton at Vancouver. 

Slim, active, blue-eyed, fair-skinned, small and 
seventy, she was, by right of her Irish mother, 
more Irish than Scottish in temperament and 
appearance; to her no small annoyance, as she 
was inordinately vain of her descent from the 
noble Scottish house whose name she retained in 
her signature. Lady Hamilton-Pelley. 

So keen a genealogist was she that upon the 
introduction of Desire, Lady Pelley immediately 
bore down on the astonished girl with the de- 


135 


136 


Kenelm’s Desire 


mand, ^^La, child! Was your grandmother a 
Lady Flora Hamilton?” 

believe she was a Scotch woman of title, 
and her name was Flora Hamilton.” 

“There, James!” turning triumphantly to quiet 
Mr. Hamilton, “did not I tell you? I never yet, 
in all my travels, stopped at an English-speaking 
town, to meet anybody, but I got on the track 
of a Hamilton. Your grandmother,” to Desire, 
“the Lady Flora Hamilton, was a beauty in her 
day. But you don’t inherit her looks, miss. I 
hope you’re not vain.” 

“I hope not,” amusement getting the better of 
confusion. 

“Oh, you’ll do well enough to look at, al- 
though you’re not much of a Hamilton, as far as 
appearance goes. But the Lady Flora was a 
great beauty and a belle. She stood godmother 
for me, only a child herself; I am her namesake. 
I’ve been on the lookout for some trace of her 
descendants every time I’ve been in America. I 
heard she died young. But what are you doing 
here?” glancing askance at Auntie Fraser and 
Kenelm. 

“I am visiting Mrs. Fraser,” Desire replied, 
loftily. Gran’ma Peden, over from home for the 
afternoon, joined the group. “Mrs. Peden,” 
Desire continued, with intention, “will you per- 
mit me to present Lady Pelley?” 

The two little ladies stood opposed, representa^ 


Lady Pelley 


137 


tives of two ancient aristocracies. Gran’ma put 
out her hand with the gracious good breeding of 
assured social position. Lady Pelley at first 
stared mechanically at it, then, saved by her glint 
of Irish good-humor and humanity, surrendered 
her bediamonded fingers in genuine heartiness of 
greeting. 

Fraser has got himself called, Hamilton,’’ 
Mr. Alexander was saying, meanwhile. The 
great Hamilton bowed, acquiescingly. hope 
you’ll be on the lookout to throw something in 
his way. I got him into the office of Jones, at 
Marlborough, some years agone. I promised 
you my handsel, too, Fraser; you mayn’t just 
remember.” 

remember,” with grateful emphasis. ^H’ve 
a lot else to thank you for, sir. But I’ll keep a 
lookout for the handsel.” 

There doesn’t seem to be anything on just now, 
except this affair of Johnny Halboard’s, and my 
friend Mr. Hamilton has the handling of that.” 

Kenelm turned, at the demand of Lady Pelley 
to be shown the canoe. 

say, Mr. Kenelm,” she began, as he led her 
down the beach, don’t want you should ex- 
pose my kinswoman to any more such hazardous 
voyages as that I’m hearing about. She’s too 
pretty a girl to risk. Don’t lead her into danger, 
and — you don’t want to go too far into danger, 
yourself.” She looked full at him, her sky-blue 


Kenelm’s Desire 


138 

eyes a-twinkle with significance that was easily 
read. Kenelm’s face darkened. 

‘‘Take an old woman’s advice,” Lady Pelley 
went on, with kind decision. “No good ever 
comes of too great inequality. I don’t know 
what the girl’s mother is thinking of, I’m sure, 
to let her come off here alone. But I’m her 
relative, and what she does with herself concerns 
me. She is too much of a Hamilton, for all 
her yellow hair, to undervalue herself; but that 
won’t make it any easier for you when the end 
comes.” 

“You have no right to mention her in that con- 
nection,” he remonstrated in low- voiced anger. 

“Ah — then you do see the impossibility? 
You are really cleverer than I thought, although 
I believed you could be broad-minded about 
it. I thought well of you from the first, or I 
shouldn’t have said a word of warning. Now 
it is said, we will go back. The men are stand- 
ing first on one foot then on the other to be 
off.” 

Her Ladyship departed in a flutter of gracious- 
ness which apparently included the entire stock 
of that valuable quality in camp; with the ex- 
ception of gran’ma’s, which nothing ever seemed 
able to disturb. 

Desire, unwontedly silent, had caught a dis- 
concerting glimpse of herself as she would appear 
in the eyes of her immediate world. Kenelm had 


Lady Pelley 


139 


shared the momentary illumination and had read 
her thoughts. He hated the Scottish gentle- 
woman with savage brutality. Jumping into the 
canoe, he removed his lowering presence to busier 
scenes and more impersonal surroundings. 

Almost the first man he met in town was 
Johnny Halboard; plump, black-eyed, hand- 
some, important, but of dolorous countenance. 
He was in company with the Chief. 

‘‘Here he is now,’’ cried the Chief. “We’re 
saved the trip over after him.” 

Kenelm’s heart jumped. Johnny Halboard 
looking for him! 

“I’ve been wantin’ to see you for a goodish 
bit, Ken — Mr. Kenelm,” Halboard opened the 
conversation with suggestive awkwardness. “It’s 
along of this ’ere land business of mine. But I 
haven’t just made up my mind about it, like, 
and I shouldn’t ’ave thought of bothering you, 
knowing you to be pretty busy, these days, if hit 
’adn’t a-been for the Chief. ’E says, ‘Go along, 
lad, and talk hit over, like, with Kenelm. ’E 
won’t charge you nowt for that,’ the Chief says.” 

Kenelm shot a grateful glance at the imper- 
turbable Chief. 

“That’s where the Chief was just all right. 
Come over to the bastion. Have you brought 
your papers along?” 

“I’ve got my first case,” Kenelm confided to 
Desire, that evening, in the canoe, as they drifted 


140 


Kenelm’s Desire 


lazily out of earshot of the camp, but still within 
the radiance of the fire. “And it’s going to come 
out all right. My! but I’m in luck!” 

“I’m so glad! then you’ll go into practice 
immediately ? ” 

“Yes. The Chief will back me up a bit in 
getting settled, and I’ll open an office with Lana- 
han in Wake Siah. I’ve got to be with some 
experienced barrister, just at first, and he is per- 
fectly willing to be a figure-head.” 

Kenelm’s success had long been a vital matter 
to Desire; now it was at hand, she could hardly 
bring herself to believe in its verity. 

“But if you shouldn’t win?” 

“But I shall. If not the first time, then the 
second, or the third. ‘It’s dogged that does it.’ 
Anyway, I’ll give the other side a run for their 
money, and that will bring me into notice. But 
never fear — I shall win. I’ve got to. And then 
I know someone who will be proud of me.” 

“ Of course !” hastily . “ Everybody will. Your 
mother will grow ten years younger on the 
strength of it.” 

“That’s all right for her — but you mustn’t.” 

“Mustn’t what?” 

“Grow ten years younger. You would be only 
twelve, then; that would put our wedding day 
too far ahead.” 

“Oh, you mustn’t!” restlessly. “I don’t want 
you to talk of impossible things.” 


Lady Pelley 


141 

He laughed out, joyously. His exuberant mood 
admitted no presentiment of defeat. 

^‘How am I to keep you reminded, if I don’t 
do some talking? Talking is my long suit. If I 
win through for Halboard it will be in good part 
due to my powers of persuasion. So it is with 
you. I must keep talking until you come to my 
opinion. It may be a long undertaking, but that 
does not daunt me. If I could only have you 
here! The summer is slipping away so fast!” 

There was a long silence before Desire spoke 
again, tumultuously. 

‘Ht hurts me to see you so confident. You 
don’t seem to consider that my happiness is 
involved.” 

He leaned forward, commanding her eyes. 

‘‘I do consider your happiness. It will lie in 
loving me. You don’t know it, yet, but one 
day you will love me as wholly as I love you. 
Desire — when that day comes — ” 

They were quiet, long minutes. Desire did not 
remember to resent his assertion. 

^Ht will be a long time before I can claim 
you,” he continued, quietly. “I have a hard 
fight ahead, and shall have for several years. 
But you are happy, doing your own work, and 
the time will go by sooner than now seems pos- 
sible. I must not think of marrying until I am 
assured of a business good enough to provide you 
with a home as easy as that you leave.” 


142 


Kenelm’s Desire 


His mention of her work shocked Desire back 
into consciousness. 

^Ht is useless and wrong to let you talk like 
that,” she said, firmly. ‘^Let me go home, and 
we will forget this sooner.” 

“The responsibility of my unhappiness is on 
my own shoulders,” he replied, doggedly. “I 
shall not release you from your promise to stay 
out the summer.” 

“Then don’t make me unhappy.” 

He leaned forward again, again to hold her 
unwilling eyes. 

“You were not unhappy a few minutes ago. 
There was one — just one blessed moment when 
you were not unhappy.” 

She blushed from pain. “I am now,” entreat- 
ingly. 

“Then you shan’t be so any more. Come! 
We’ll sing. Tune up, Maddox,” he raised his 
voice to call to the school-teacher. 

Kenelm’s sweet baritone voice had received no 
training. It rolled easily and purely from his 
well-opened throat, in a fashion peculiarly de- 
licious to his companion’s cultivated ear. 

“Skeeters am a-hummin’ in the honeysuckle 
vine,” 

Sleep, Kentucky haheP^ from the circle around 
the fire. 

“Sandman am a-comin’ to this little coon of 
mine,” 


Lady Pelley 


143 


Sleep, Kentucky babeP^ 

Desire nestled contentedly into her cushions. 
Very exceptionally could she prevail on Kenelm 
to sing; and they were far enough away to lose 
the slightly nasal quality of Maddox’s boyish 
tenor. 

Kenelm gave full measure to-night; trolling 
out song after song; singing to her in her crim- 
son nest as happily and unconsciously as the bird 
in spring who calls, full-throated, to his mate. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE STING or GOOD FORTUNE 

M r. ALEXANDER met Kenelm the day 
after Lady Pelley’s visit. News of Ken- 
elm’s employment had already begun to 
percolate through the business stratum of the 
town. 

‘‘What’s this I’m hearing, Fraser?” Mr. Alex- 
ander challenged abruptly. “Sure, there’s some 
mistake. People are using your name in connec- 
tion with Halboard’s claim. How about it — 
eh?” 

“Halboard has put his case into my hands,” 
Kenelm assented. 

“And you accepted?” incredulously. 

“I did.” 

“Well, sir, all I have to say is, it’s a different 
handsel to what I had hoped to give. Much 
good may it do ye.” 

“Mr. Alexander,” Kenelm said earnestly, de- 
taining the manager by an intercepting step 
forward. 

Mr. Alexander faced him with some sternness 
and a shade of contempt. 


144 


The Sting of Good Fortune 145 

“IVe listened to you before, my man,’’ he 
reminded Kenelm. 

^‘You know,” Kenelm went on, steadily, ‘‘how 
much I have valued your assistance and encour- 
agement. This opportunity came unexpectedly, 
last night; I knew I might wait years before I 
should have a chance at another case of equal 
importance.” 

“Ay! Self-interest is easy enough understood.” 

Kenelm grew hard. 

“It is a question of that, all around; with you 
as well as with me. lam free to admit it on my 
side, and you can’t well deny it on yours.” 

“So Johnny is to be sacrificed to your aggran- 
dizement?” 

“Not if I can help it!” 

“You mean?” 

“I mean,” warmly, “I’ll try the case in every 
accessible court and I will never let go until his 
rights, whatever they are, have been ascertained 
and accounted for. But before I start in I wish 
to discount any idea of personal animus against 
yourself. I owe you nothing but kindness. If I 
fight hard, it will be for my client — not against 
you.” 

“I’ll grant ye a good flow of fair-sounding 
words,” the manager interrupted, bitterly. “Take 
them where they’ll bring ye in money and consid- 
eration. I’ve enough of them, by now. I’m 
acquainted with their value.” 


146 


Kenelm's Desire 


But — in spite of Mr. Alexander's anger — 
what happy, busy days! Back once more at the 
Custom House, Desire’s music had at last firm 
hold; had it not been for sunset walks in the 
woods and placid evening paddlings around near- 
lying islets, her vacation days would have proved 
hardly less occupied than the busy months from 
which she had lately escaped. 

As the crowded weeks drew along, Kenelm’s 
declaration of love receded into mistiness; re- 
called occasionally but to emphasize its futility. 

Desire had again met Mrs. Milner, who had 
called on Mrs. Fraser this summer, soon after 
the return from camping. She did not call on 
Desire. A small distinction, but weighty. 

“Quite true, Henry,” she had agreed with her 
husband, on his return from a genial and delight- 
ful call on the stranger soon after her arrival at the 
Custom House. ‘ ‘ I dare say she is all you repre- 
sent. Her frocks are really very good, and not 
at all American, and I admit she looks refined.” 

^‘My love, she is refined.” 

“Henry! And visit the Indians!” 

“I don’t quite understand it myself,” the rector 
conceded. “You know, the Frasers are most 
estimable, and the Chief is a power, in his way.” 

“Yes — but — Henry!” 

“Oh, I do not deny their social impossibility. 
But she seems quite in earnest about the Indian 
melodies. Most incomprehensible!” 


The Sting of Good Fortune 


147 


^^She did not write Indian music five years 
ago/’ skeptically. ^^And she spends altogether 
too much time out alone in the canoe with that 
young Kenelm. Oh!” impatiently sighing, 'The 
Indian question would be simple enough if it 
were not for the second generation.” 

"But Kenelm Fraser is of the first generation, 
and is decidedly a superior young fellow, really.” 

"That is the worst of it! If these two families 
were like the other half-bloods or the families 
down at the Indian village, one would know 
what to do about them. But when they begin 
to have social and intellectual aspirations they 
are most — most perplexing! And so, Henry,” 
with decision, "I cannot call on Miss Llewellyn. 
It would involve having her here at the house; 
and that, I do assure you, would be most unwise.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


SALMON 

7E will paddle down the full length of the 
\/\/ lagoon to a beach I know about, make 
our coffee, then take a peep at the gulf,’^ 
Kenelm said, the day they went for salmon. 

This programme was lazily carried out. They 
had plenty of time, as they had started soon after 
luncheon and won out of Discovery Bay on their 
way to Five Finger Island. The fish would not 
bite freely until after sunset, during that month. 
They dawdled silently along the quicksilver sea; 
happily silent — happily — too — unconscious of 
their silence. 

Kenelm’ s old, indolent love of the outside of 
the world held full sway, as through every alert 
sense he drank in pleasure dumbly. His eye de- 
lighted in the shift of color between sky and sea; 
his ear in the lisp of water against the wood of 
the boat; his taste in the saltness of the occa- 
sional spray-drops from Desire’s not always ruly 
blade, and the saline tang to the quiet air against 
his partly opened lips; his sense of smell in the 


148 


Salmon 


149 


indescribable fragrance of salt water, mingled 
with the resinous breath of the firs, borne to 
them from near-lying islets; his touch in the pad- 
dle pressure against the resistently yielding sea. 

A heron stood, one-legged, on a sand-bar; a 
flight of black crows broke, cawing, from the trees. 

‘‘How many thrilling stories I shall have to 
tell this winter when I am at home,’’ Desire said 
dreamily, hardly aloud. 

Kenelm remained silent for several seconds. 
She had forgotten her speech, when his voice, 
low-toned but incisive, recalled it with a start. 

“And in those stories I shall figure like a char- 
acter out of Dickens!” 

“How can you!” in quick distress. 

“How can I help it!” with sudden passion. 
“Here I have been revelling, like the Indian I 
am, in this out-door sensuousness; forgetting 
that to you I can be nothing more than an ani- 
mated part of the landscape — more effective 
than the crows and the one-legged heron — be- 
cause a greater rarity. A sort of talking crow.” 

His futile anger passed into remorse. “My 
helplessness about you drives me savage, at 
times. If you disliked me, or were indifferent, 
it would not be so hard in some ways, and at 
some moments.” 

“But, listen — ” 

“I understand. You are honest in what you 
say, but you don’t realize as I do. It is the same 


Kenelm’s Desire 


150 

feeling that all white-skinned people have toward 
the dark-skinned. Your novelists and poets all 
tell the same story. Contact between the two 
spells tragedy, always, according to them. You 
may like or respect or admire certain individuals 
of us for qualities personal to ourselves, but it is 
always with a definite allowance for our nation- 
ality — if we can be said to have any.’’ 

‘‘If I were an — Indian — I should be proud 
of it.” 

“See how you hesitate over the word! Well, 
I was proud of it, until I saw you. I am proud 
now, even while I rebel because it stands in 
the way of happiness. If you were an Indian 
woman — ” his honesty interfered; he hesitated, 
then finished stubbornly, “well, I should not 
love you. I may as well admit it. An Indian 
woman could not possibly be like you. You 
are the fine flower of centuries of cultivation. 
But if — by miracle — you could have been an 
Indian, my birth would never have given me a 
pang.” 

It was some moments before he spoke again. 
His words carried on, more gently, the dominat- 
ing thought. 

“As a boy I was foolishly proud of being an 
Alaskan. I never mentioned it, but I used to 
say to myself, about the other chaps, ‘They did 
not come from chiefs’ families; their fathers 
never commanded men.’ At school I seemed 


Salmon 


iSi 

never to study, but I was watchful that the In- 
dian should come out just a little ahead in class. 
I never had but one street-fight — when I was 
about fifteen. It was a big one; the other fel- 
low, taller and heavier than I, was not seen in 
the street again for a week. I was always good- 
natured, just as I am now, but there came a 
time when it was necessary to show that even at 
fisticuffs I was still the Chief. I never told this, 
I just showed it. A chief must be liked, and I 
am liked. I have more than once beaten the 
white speakers on their own stump — as you 
know, a chief should be a speech-maker. 

‘‘Then, no other chap in this part of the prov- 
ince has taken the education and has made the 
start that I have.’^ He stopped to laugh at his 
own earnestness. “It sounds like the Big War- 
rior bragging of his scalps, doesn’t it? Well, I 
am an Indian — through and through — only for 
you — ” 

“ I like to hear you boast of your Indian 
blood,” Desire broke in. “That has been the 
one thing disappointing to me this summer: your 
discontent about it. It seemed weak. Oh! don’t 
let us be unhappy. I haven’t such a long time to 
stay — don’t make me wish it shorter.” 

“No, I must make you so happy you will long 
to come back,” he replied, restored to his usual 
serenity. ‘H mustn’t frighten you by my ill- 
humor. I acknowledge that this summer it has 


152 


Kenelm’s Desire 


come out in a way surprising to me. I haven’t 
the reputation of being bad-tempered.” 

She smiled forgivingly as the canoe grounded 
on the beach and Kenelm lifted her out, then 
held her arm a moment until she felt sure of her 
feet. She had been kneeling so long that her 
ankles were numb and not altogether reliable. 

Strange, unawakened girl! To lean uncon- 
cernedly on Kenelm’ s arm, while every breath 
she drew in that sweet proximity sent the blood 
clamoring to his throat in such fashion that he 
dared not speak for fear of frightening her by 
the betrayal of his agitation. 

Silence reigned again, interrupted by necessary 
comments on the familiar coffee-making and 
table-spreading. Afterward Kenelm lay quietly 
on the sand while Desire lived a dream of 
jewelled waters and of shining skies against that 
tremendous snow-sweep of the blue Olympians. 

“If you could love me, you could love my 
country.” 

He had been watching her illuminated face. 
She rose, with an embarrassed sigh. “How 
about salmon?” 

He overwhelmed her by placing her in the 
stern of the canoe, to wield the steering paddle. 

“ But I never steered in the open sea 1 I daren’t.” 

“Yes, you dare, it is the steersman who does 
the fishing. I want you to catch your salmon.” 

With fluttering importance Desire pushed off 


Salmon 


153 


and turned her prow toward the mouth of the 
lagoon, near at hand, through which they quickly 
passed out into the swelling waters of the gulf. 

Here she took in her paddle temporarily, and, 
under instruction, tied her salmon-line to the 
cross-piece in front. From there it must pass 
along the floor, be held down by her left knee, 
brought up across her thigh to the stern of the 
canoe, thence into the water. 

And the skill of putting down the hook! One 
must not paddle too fast or the hook will hang 
near the top; nor too slow, or it sinks down 
below the twilight stratum beloved of the tooth- 
some, pink-fleshed travellers. The heap of loose 
twine must not be moved or interfered with, on 
penalty of a half-hour’s work disentangling the 
result. 

Seaweed must be looked out for and avoided; 
should it appear in the field, all those hundreds 
of feet of twine must be carefully hauled in and 
heaped properly, ready to be run out when the 
encumbering stuff is passed. 

All this knowledge Desire worked so hard to 
acquire that the sunshot sky and the sparkling 
waves completely lost hold of her imagination. 

Once out in the gulf she steered due east in 
the direction of the first Sun Rock, which stood 
boldly in midpath of the sunset, looking hardly 
larger than a buoy. 

‘'Don’t miss the sunset,” Kenelm implored. 


154 


Kenelm’s Desire 


tantalizingly. He knelt, facing her. ‘‘Look! 
The sun is going to set just behind Texada.’’ 
Or, “The sea is yellow all the way from here to 
the edge of the sun.” 

‘^Don’t talk any more landscape! I am will- 
ing to paddle, and steer, and tend line, and dodge 
kelp, and keep a lookout for salmon, but when it 
comes to admiring a sunset which is taking place 
behind my back at that precise instant of time, 
there I must say I draw the line — oh ! I felt 
something against my knee — a tug — do you 
suppose — ” 

“Jerk your line once — short and hard! Now! 
Pull in—” 

He drew in his paddle, snatched hers from her 
hand and issued his commands in a breath. 

“Throw the line down lightly — just as it 
comes — ” 

“But there isn’t any more pull,” rapidly piling 
up the slack in a loose heap. 

“Of course not! She’s coming this way — 
hurry up! I hear the swish — ” 

“0-h-h!” as a silver gleam shot by, just be- 
neath the surface. 

‘ ‘ Pay out — out — ou t ! ” excitedly. “Fast — 
faster! Don’t let her come to the end of the line 
with a jerk, or the hook may break through.” 

The first flutter over. Desire bent steadily to 
her business of paying out; then, when the cord 
slackened, of pulling in. She quickly learned the 


Salmon 


iSS 

language of the line, and met the tactics of her 
enemy with instinctive skill and cunning; nor did 
her tender heart accuse her of cruelty until, the 
last silvery rush past, she drew the beautiful, 
gasping creature up to the edge of the boat, 
where she helplessly held it suspended. She 
looked piteously at Kenelm, who sprang for- 
ward, lifted in the catch and dealt one light, deft 
blow, just back of the head, which stilled the 
finny flutterings forever. 

The canoe, which during the excitement had 
been circling slowly, sport of wind and wave, was 
soon headed straight for home, but the line was 
again run out, on the chance of another bite; 
unsteadily, for Desire had felt faint from the 
time her victim was finally landed in the boat. 
The enormity of the fish’s suffering seemed dis- 
proportioned to the brief pleasure derived by her- 
self. And that sickening thud of the gaff at the 
base of the brain! 

The stiffening breeze and the necessity for good 
work with her paddle soon braced her nerves; in 
the course of a quarter of an hour she was able 
to survey her prize with unsimulated enthusiasm. 

Steering was not so easy, now. The waves 
tumbled in confusedly from two or three quarters. 
Had it not been for Kenelm’ s wariness she would 
more than once have been caught unprepared. 
She felt fatigue from the muscular exertion and 
mental responsibility of her position. 


Kenelm’s Desire 


156 

Kenelm’s sensitive ear detected a ‘‘swish” of 
differing quality from the many water sounds by 
which they were enringed. 

“There’s another. Jerk hard!” 

“But,” incredulously, “I felt no tug — ” 

“He is headed straight this way. I see the 
disturbance. Pull fast!” 

She hauled in rapidly, convinced now by the 
rushing sound. A magnificent creature dashed 
viciously up to the side of the boat, and as sud- 
denly disappeared, dragging the line straight 
down. 

“He is sinking. Pay out — quick!” 

Despite all her speed, when the salmon rose, 
a good distance on the side opposite from where 
he had plunged, the line drew tightly against the 
canoe’s edge, tipping it and its occupants to the 
water level. Desire caught the line with both 
hands, pulling upward, which released the press- 
ure and righted them, at the risk of tearing loose 
from the game. The fish responded by another 
terrified rush in their direction, another plunge 
beneath the boat, and a repetition of his wild 
effort to escape. 

Many times the frantic creature tore his way, 
now in this direction, now in that, through the 
foaming water, to the very end of his tether; 
having reached which, he would fight a fierce 
second before seeking a new career. He was a 
splendid fighter, and seemed definitely to have 


Salmon 


IS7 

located his foe. Desire went through a fright- 
ened moment every time he appeared in sight, 
lashing the waves into snow with his glittering 
tail and headed directly for her end of the canoe; 
but she wanted him, and did her part mechani- 
cally well, to the triumphant admiration of Ken- 
elm, who soon resigned his post as instructor and 
confined himself to the agreeable occupation of 
encouragement and applause. 

It proved a long fight and a fierce one. The 
big fellow held out while there remained an 
ounce of muscular energy in all his agile body. 
At the end of the combat Desire lifted him, un- 
resisting, over the side, and Kenelm adminis- 
tered the death-tap, more as a matter of form 
than of necessity. 

take it all back. You would make a pretty 
good Indian, after all.” 

Desire raised her left arm to display the crow 
bracelet which had not been once removed in 
the five years since gran’ma had placed it there. 

‘^1 am an adopted Crow,” she reminded him. 

The sparkle died out of her face as she glanced 
down at her trophy. 

^^I’m sorry,” she faltered. 

Nonsense! No you’re not. Anybody who can 
conduct a campaign like that has no business with 
remorse. Now for home. I wish I could exchange 
places with you, but it is too rough to risk it, 
here,” anxiously, as he noted her pallor. 


Kenelm’s Desire 


158 

Desire bent to her work. Home seemed far 
away. In her heart she did not believe she could 
hold out to reach it. Night was coming on with 
what all at once seemed an eerie swiftness. The 
horizon had grown leaden, and the green-gray 
waters, heaving for miles in every direction, de- 
pressed her by their immensity. The boat was 
so tiny and the ocean so big. 

‘^How tired you are!’’ 

Yes, and a little — faint — I believe.” 

“Steer for the nearest land, over to the right. 
We will stop and rest a while. Take care about 
the waves.” 

With a skilled hand at the stern-paddle they 
need have been in no danger, although the roll- 
ers were now big and frequent. But Desire had 
so completely lost her head that she was incom- 
petent to look out for, much less to steer properly 
against the least imposing. Kenelm, facing her, 
did much with his back-handed paddling, but 
was obliged to concentrate his attention on De- 
sire, whom he was compelled to instruct in very 
nearly every turn of her blade. Alone, she might 
have rallied her judgment and her will, but hav- 
ing Kenelm to lean upon, she made no effort 
other than to follow his commands. 

His heart reproved him, the while he sat di- 
recting her stroke as she knelt in pale misery 
where she must remain, if they were to win 
through the boisterous waves in safety to land. 


Salmon 


159 

For her — she was conscious of but one sensa- 
tion — a resolve never to re-enter a boat, once 
her foot pressed solid earth again. After an 
infinity of despairing effort, the land drew near, 
only to tantalize their eagerness. 

‘^It is impossible,’’ Kenelm pronounced, pity- 
ingly. ‘‘The waves are too high to land. We 
should be dashed to pieces. Can you manage 
until we get around yonder point, into Discovery 
Bay?” 

“Yes.” 

Desperation strengthened her strokes. 

Around the sheltering point, which they reached 
sooner than she had dared to hope, stretched the 
familiar, glassy bay and an inviting little beach, 
upon which Desire at length sank, feeling that 
she could gather it all up in her arms for a mighty 
hug. She drooped forward, too tired to talk. 

Kenelm put a supporting arm about her waist. 

“Lean on my shoulder,” he advised. “There’s 
nothing else here, and you are completely worn 
out. You are not so much of an Indian — after 
all — little Crow?” 

She smiled, a mere twilight of a smile, and 
rested gladly against his sturdy chest. 

“Shall I never learn to be considerate! You 
are so full of life and go that I forget you are 
built on lines different to myself. You will be 
afraid to trust yourself with me again.” 

He did not touch her hands, her hair or her 


i6o Kenelm’s Desire 

face; although later, when she found words, she 
raised it heavenly near his own in speaking. 

Her childlike acceptance of his assistance 
stirred his best feelings; the passion which had 
long tormented him was now as far from his 
sensations as from her own. 

Hours later the wonder of it came over him. 
Just now, the arrangement seemed to both the 
simplest and most natural thing in the world; 
in no sense a situation for embarrassment or 
explanation. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE HEART DESIRES 

I T was an experience not to be forgotten. The 
accidental intimacy which at the time had not 
caused in Kenelm so much as the accelera- 
tion of a heart-beat, grew in sweetness under the 
fostering influence of memory. 

Also, on the night of the salmon expedition, 
while sleepily plaiting her long, fair braid for the 
night, alone in her big, whitewashed chamber in 
the Custom House, a flash of memory stopped 
short Desire’s breathing. Her busy fingers ceased 
plying among the yellow strands. Startled, she 
gazed straight ahead at her face in the mirror, 
for one breathless instant; then dropped it, 
burning rose-red, into her outspread hands. 

Minutes afterward she looked up, with lumi- 
nous eyes and a pink stain yet showing through 
the delicate sun-tan of her skin. 

She did not again glance in the mirror. For- 
getting to finish her hair, with eyes downcast, she 
turned off the electric light, prayed mechanically 
and sought her pillow, to hide in its cool depths 
the strangely sweet confusion of her thoughts. 

i6i 


i 62 


Kenelm’s Desire 


After that, when alone together, the two seemed 
never really alone. A new Desire stood guard over 
every word. 

As time sped unrelentingly toward the day of 
her home-going, the condition became so estab- 
lished that Kenelm at last lost heart. 

At length — to-morrow — Desire must pack, 
and the next day take the boat for Vancouver, 
to return home by Seattle and the overland 
journey South. 

They took the canoe out for a last cruise to 
Five Fingers Islet, which they reached before sun- 
set. The two had never felt farther apart than 
to-day. It was the extreme of tension. Relaxation 
must come — or disaster. This they were too in- 
experienced to foresee. Each was coldly unhappy 
and miserably disappointed at the apparent in- 
sensibility of the other. 

The expedition had been undertaken with the 
ostensible object of watching the sun set behind 
Texada, whose black mass loomed forty miles to 
westward, up the gulf. They planned to return 
by full moonlight, reaching home easily before 
nine o’clock, which in September begins to seem 
decidedly late. 

The sun set slightly to the south of Texada; 
forty miles of golden sea, melting into a translu- 
cent hemisphere of paler gold, through which 
the cold blue of the Northland sky took on the 
tremulous greenness of an opal. 


The Heart Desires 163 

Where will you see a sight like that, again?’' 
Kenelm asked. 

^Ht is the full orchestration of color,” returned 
the musician. 

They filled their eyes in silence as the glare 
modulated tenderly into ineffable rose-tints which 
paled suddenly before a broad effulgence from 
the east. 

‘^The moon!” Kenelm arose and held out his 
hand. Come to the other side.” 

They found a narrow alcove looking only east- 
ward. Its sides cut off all but a shining path of 
silver sea which led straight to the heart of the 
moon. Across this path, soon after they had 
seated themselves, as before the proscenium arch 
of a theatre, glided, like the swan-boat in Lohen- 
grin and almost as close to their eyes, a pleasure 
yacht filled with happy people. It came so close 
that auburn-haired Katie, who stood at the deck- 
rail, pouring forth the full flood of her gracious 
chest-tones in the old Scotch ballad of Sweet 
Bess of Dundee, smiled comprehendingly at the 
two as she swung by. 

^‘They are to be married next week. Katie is 
as happy as a bird. She is a good girl, and gets 
a good husband. That is his boat, the ^Kath- 
leen.’ ” 

The pretty yacht curtsied itself beyond eyeshot, 
but Katie’s love-song floated softly back, to the 
fit accompaniment of the moonlight and the sea. 


164 


Kenelm’s Desire 


“Why may we not be happy, too?’’ he urged, 
gently. “Is it impossible?” 

Again the blood fled in tumult to brow and 
neck. Her heart beat fast; her breath fluttered 
in and out with difflculty. She could not speak. 
He bent nearer, and Desire felt in anticipation 
the sweet pressure of his encircling arm. She 
drew away, something of appeal in her hurried 
movement. 

“You are not obliged to evade me,” he pro- 
tested. “A word is all you ever need. But 
don’t say it until you have thought well. De- 
sire!” with abrupt vehemence, “if I did not know 
that I could make you happy — if I did not 
know that your one chance for happiness lies in 
loving me, I swear I would never again ask you 
to marry me.” 

“But you will not understand,” she said, mis- 
erably. “It would break my mother’s heart. I 
could not be happy unless she were happy, too. 
I am all she has.” 

“Why should she be unhappy?” 

“She doesn’t know you.” 

“That’s easily remedied. I will go to see her.” 

A mental picture of Kenelm, brown, sturdy, 
silent, striding along crowded city streets or lis- 
tening to platitudes at her mother’s tea-table 
came near to provoking a smile. 

“No,” gently. “She would never get to know 
you that way.” 


The Heart Desires 165 

‘‘Then bring her up here,” hopefully. Desire 
shook her head. 

“You don^t know what you are talking about. 
You and mother would never understand or truly 
appreciate each other. And there is more than 
you at fault. I could not be separated from her, 
and I could not ask her to leave the home and 
friends of years to come to this out-of-the-world 
spot. What is there for her here?” 

“Is that all?” 

Desire turned her face away. “No!” reso- 
lutely. His heart leaped at the unhappiness in 
her tone. 

“Let’s face it out,” cheerfully. “She would be 
horrified at the idea of her daughter’s marrying 
an Indian.” 

Desire’s silence replied. 

“But you would have felt that, once. You 
don’t now, for you love me.” There followed a 
long, precious silence before he resumed, with 
confidence. 

“Well, that means one more obstacle, a big 
one, to overcome. I don’t mind obstacles; and 
there really are none worthy of the name — now. 
Let me try to make my way with your mother. 
May I try?” 

Desire shook her head, still turned away. 

“That is not all,” she cried, despairingly. 

“I was afraid not,” governing his voice with 
care. “What else troubles you?” 


1 66 Kenelm’s Desire 

Don’t you see? I — can’t — I can’t live here. 
I put it all on mother’s shoulders, but it fits mine 
better. How can I live always in this place, 
when I need so much that only the outside world 
can give ? If it is true of mother, it is a thousand 
times truer of me. I can’t just — love — and be 
happy all my life. There is so much else I must 
have to make happiness. It is the same way 
with you,” in sudden attack. ‘Hf you and I 
were to be sent off to a desert island for loving 
me, where there was nothing to do but just to 
live, you could not be happy, no matter how 
beautiful the place nor how much you might — 
love — me.” 

“I am glad to have got to the bottom of the 
matter at last,” coldly. Then his honesty as- 
serted itself. “I see it all. I have been trying 
not to see it, from the first. Then my love could 
not make up to you for the loss of the rest of the 
world?” 

‘‘No more than mine could make up to you 
for letting your best powers go to waste for lack 
of opportunity.” 

“You could write music anywhere.” 

“Oh, you don’t understand — ” impatiently, 
“the necessity for taking in. The artist who 
always and only gives out will soon become ex- 
hausted. I must hear music greater than I can 
ever produce, or my own little talent will wither 
for lack of nourishment.” 


The Heart Desires 


167 


“If it has come to be a question in analytics/’ 
he retorted, rising, “we may as well let it go 
unanswered.” She looked stubborn. “Until,” 
softly, “the answer can be ‘yes.’” 

She stared perseveringly out to sea, but the 
momentary hardening had disappeared. 

He referred to the matter but once again, be- 
fore they reached home. 

“I have been thinking whether I dare promise 
to go away and try to get a foothold in San Fran- 
cisco or New York,” he said, with a simplicity 
which showed his ignorance of the true magni- 
tude of the venture. “But I see that for several 
years it will be impracticable. I should need 
money and time to fit myself for admission to 
the bar in the United States. Montreal or To- 
ronto would come easier, but even if you cared to 
live there, it would take years to make myself 
known — even to get one chance to show of what 
I am capable. Prejudice, which I have mostly 
lived down on this island, would be against me 
anywhere else. This is my opening. I shall 
gain time by staying here to improve it. In a 
few years I may be able to establish myself in 
Victoria — ” hopefully again; “that is quite large, 
and the people there are different to Wake Siah 
people.” 

Desire again repressed a smile. 

“Well,” he was keen at thought-reading, “I 
suppose I don’t understand the bigness of the 


i68 


Kenelm’s Desire 


world; I have no standard of comparison. But 
I shall, some day. By that time you will have 
found out how small it really is.^’ 

That evening Kenelm and the Chief sat long 
and silently on the veranda; the younger man 
immersed in his anxious meditations, the Chief 
trying hard to read beneath his foster-son^ s stolid 
exterior. 

“When is Desire coming back?’^ the Chief 
ventured. 

“She did not say,^’ Kenelm roused himself 
to reply, alert for defense. “Well,’^ yawning, 
“goodnight. Chief,” and he was gone. 

The next afternoon Desire, who was not quick 
to read her associates, delightedly accepted an 
invitation to go out in the buggy with the Chief. 
Packing had been accomplished, and Auntie 
Fraser’s tears had begun to wear on Desire’s 
nerves. 

They drove around to bid goodbye to gran’ma 
and the pilot. Gran’ma was already crying when 
they arrived. Elbridge roamed pettishly from one 
to the other of the melancholy group, and the 
old pilot looked as though he might be in the 
clutches of remorse at having lost a “ clinker 
built convoy on the naughtiest kind of a rock. 

“When will you come back?” was the burden 
of the cry. 

“I declare!” Lydia cried, “they won’t feel half 
as bad when I go away.” 


The Heart Desires 169 

After goodbye and again goodbye, Desire, all 
unconscious, once more got into the buggy with 
the Chief. 

When, safely out of town, he suddenly opened 
the subject of which she had supposed him pro- 
foundly ignorant. Desire broke completely down, 
hid her face against the astonished gentleman’s 
arm and sobbed to her heart’s relief. 

“Don’t cry, lassie,” he said, with awkward 
tenderness. “I don’t want you should be un- 
happy. But I can’t a-bear to see the last of 
you.” 

When her sobs had quieted he made a fairly 
forcible argument for Kenelm; to which Desire 
listened gravely, her pent-up nervousness dissi- 
pated, and her heart wonderfully tender toward 
the fine old friend at her side. 

“It cannot be,” she said, with finality. “I feel 
that I ought to have gone away sooner. But I 
don’t think much about — such things — and I 
did not quite realize what it all meant. I hope 
you won’t blame me too much.” 

“Never fear that, lass,” heartily. “It’s been 
good for the boy to know you, if it never goes 
any further,” was the end of the colloquy which 
had promised to be painful for them both, but 
which resulted in cementing a friendship for 
which each life was the richer ever afterward. 

To Desire’s astonishment, both the rector and 
his wife were seated stifily in the stiff parlor when 


170 


Kenelm’s Desire 


she returned ; come for the express purpose of bid- 
ding her goodbye! Mrs. Milner held out her 
hand with thin but genuine enough cordiality. 

There was a significance in this suddenly mani- 
fested sociability which Desire, grown sensitive, 
was able to comprehend. 

hope to see more of you, on your return, 
said the rector’s lady. Her husband sent her a 
warning glance. 

“That is, if we are to be so fortunate as to 
have you with us again,” he amended. “And 
we all hope that you have enjoyed Wake Siah 
well enough to wish to come again.” 

“Thank you, my plans are not arranged so 
far in the future,” she replied with a cool civil- 
ity which caused Auntie Fraser to open her tear- 
swollen eyes. 

Desire excused herself on the score of belated 
preparations, and fled to her room in conster- 
nation. 

If the rector’s wife had begun to look upon her 
as a member of the parish, it certainly was time 
to get away. 

In the parlor Auntie Fraser wept mildly and 
the rector’s lady looked puzzled. 

“But,” she argued with her husband on her 
townward walk, “it has been so very marked. 
Anyone can see that Mrs. Fraser certainly wishes 
it. I felt that we should do something to express 
our interest. Kenelm is really so very commend- 


The Heart Desires 171 

able, and people are talking so much about his 
ability, and that, you know. I feel that he ought 
to be encouraged.’’ 

“But we must remember that no engagement 
has been announced.” 

“Henry! as though they would consider such 
formality necessary!” 

“Miss Llewellyn looks not unaccustomed to 
formalities.” 

“True! So very odd! A girl like her to have 
taken up with the Frasers! I hope there is noth- 
ing wrong.” 

“My dear!” 

“I distinctly said H hope.’ That means I take 
a more charitable view than some other persons 
do. You can hardly blame them when you con- 
sider that her only girl associate has been that 
atrocious Althea Heneker. People say the man- 
ner in which she and that aunt of hers monop- 
olize young McLeod is most shocking. And so 
many nice girls, too, in our very church! I can- 
not understand a young man of his family and 
social position compromising himself with such 
people. He cannot possibly marry Althea. As 
for Miss Llewellyn,” returning to her injury, 
“she has no reason to expect consideration, ex- 
cept in the event of her marrying young Fraser. 
Otherwise, she has been most indiscreet, as even 
you must admit. In case they marry, people 
will overlook it for the sake of the Frasers, who 


172 


Kenelm^s Desire 


are most estimable people; but if they do not, I 
assure you the general feeling is that her inti- 
macy with him is not to be condoned.’^ 

The hardest experience of the trying day came 
at bedtime, when Auntie Fraser lingered, timidly 
determined, after every pretense for delay had 
been twice over exhausted. 

do want you to come back,’’ she said at 
length, with timorous boldness, trembling as she 
stood before apprehensive Desire, her brown fin- 
gers twining around each other in nervous agita- 
tion. “Kennie wants you to come back.” 

Desire sat mute. 

“Can you come back for Kennie? He is such 
a good boy.” Desire dumbly shook her head. 
“Oh, please do.” Auntie Fraser supplicated. 
“Kennie would be so kind and good. And He 
says,” she never was heard to refer to the Chief 
by a more definite term, although she never 
failed to make apparent the bigness of the “H,” 
“that Kennie will be a rich man some day, he 
is so smart. Don’t you know all those medals 
he got, and the diplomas, three, all framed, with 
glass over them, before he was seventeen?” 

“Please don’t beg for him. Auntie Fraser. I 
could not make him happy.” 

“Oh, yes, if you married him. Kennie was 
always happy when he got his way about things. 
Then he wouldn’t just laugh — but these would 
come in his cheeks,” making evanescent dimples 


The Heart Desires 


173 


with her finger tips. ^^And I would say, H know! 
You have been in mischief!’ Whenever I saw 
these in his cheeks I knew there was something 
behind. But I couldn’t punish him. Nobody 
ever could be mean to Kennie, some way. You 
won’t be mean to my Kennie? Please don’t be 
mean to Kennie.” 

Desire laughed at the earnest, childlike crea- 
ture, and kissed her, though with trembling lips. 
She knew the dimples well; had watched for 
them many a time as an index to what mischief 
might be lurking behind his gravely spoken 
words. 

There! Now I’ll tell Kennie and we’ll all be 
happy.” 

Desire caught her back just in time. 

‘‘No, no!” she protested. “You must not say 
a word to Kenelm. I cannot marry him. My 
mother would be so unhappy. You would not 
have me make trouble for her?” 

“I wish she knew Kennie,” doubtfully. “She 
would like him. Everybody likes him. He is so 
smart. He has chiefs’ blood.” She straightened 
up with a dignity rarely exhibited in her self- 
distrustful little person. “Tell your mother that 
he is not a common Siwash: he was born of 
the son of a chief, and his House has been since 
before the Flood. Will you tell her?” 

“She knows. But I shall tell her all the good 
and sweet and generous things about him and 


174 


Kenelm’s Desire 


about all of you,” Desire replied, weeping un- 
controllably. ‘^It will make no difference. You 
must not ask me to marry Kenelm. He knows 
why I cannot.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE COMING OF SHEEWIN 

A t half-past eight the next evening Kenelm 
and Desire drove from Hotel Vancouver 
to the wharf, after which they settled De- 
sire’s luggage in the tiny stateroom of the toy 
North Pacific y went through all the necessary 
formulae of farewell messages and finally stood 
silent, grief-stricken, face to face with the end. 

The bell sounded. There came a sob from 
beneath Desire’s low-drawn travelling cap. Ken- 
elm seized both ungloved hands and drew her 
into the shadow of a packing case. His voice, 
rough with entreaty, was barely audible, though 
so near. 

‘‘Say ‘Yes,’ Desire — say ‘Yes!’” 

“Yes!” 

A precious instant she lay close upon his heart. 
He raised her face gently to his. The next 
moment he was gone; clearing the already wide 
space between the wharf and the moving boat at 
a bound. 

Standing obstinately in the shadow she saw 
him, hat in hand, dimples playing in either cheek. 


176 


Kenelm’s Desire 


as he strove to maintain the proper British 
decorum, watching eagerly for the one more 
glimpse. Shyness held her back until his face 
began to grow indistinct. She flew to the rail 
and thrust out a beckoning hand. His return 
salute was cut short by the crush of porters and 
wharfingers who were closing up for the night. 

She sped up to the deck and leaned over the 
railing — to no avail. On love’s fond imagining 
she must rely to conjure up the dark face aglow 
with ecstasy, among the duskily moving figures 
down beneath; all soon to merge into the com- 
mon inexorableness of the distance and the night. 
But because she knew he watched there, she 
watched also; until the city front had been trans- 
formed into a far-stretching semicircle of radiat- 
ing brilliancy, which sent hundreds of gorgeous 
streamers undulating across the waves as though 
in celebration of the hour of her going away. 

Where was Kenelm? Back at the hotel? She 
tried to forget the unbearable sweetness of the 
last moment. 

Where was Kenelm ? He could not have given 
the itinerary of that night’s wanderings. The 
whole world was not too large to hold his glad- 
ness. He was not hampered by the inherited 
necessity for a roof. The sky, once witness to 
his grief, now looked beneficently down upon his 
exultation. Sheewin, the Love-bringer, for this 
night fulfilled the ancient prophesy. 


The Coming of Sheewin 177 

But next day an outwardly imperturbable 
Kenelm returned to Wake Siah on the Pleasure^ 
to immerse himself body and soul in the work 
that was to gain him his Heart’s Desire. 

Until midnight, alone on the miniature deck, 
Desire lived only in the tender rapture of the hour. 

Last night she had conceded that she loved 
Kenelm with her whole heart, and had renounced 
him. This morning she had resignedly planned 
her future, Kenelm excluded. As late as to-night 
— even at the last — that sob had come unsum- 
moned and unawares. It had meant sadness; 
not relenting. Her “yes” had been but an im- 
petuous yielding to the sweet compulsion of his 
hands. She would have retracted, the next in- 
stant, had she dared — but not now ! 

In a breath — the breath of a caress — her 
scruples of the last few weeks had disappeared, 
leaving a still wonder that they could at any time 
have exerted an influence so profound. 

A tremulous, long-drawn sigh; a tender drop- 
ping of the heavy eyelids; thought abandoned 
the supererogatory labor of defense; love, slow- 
mounting, triumphant, flooded heart, soul and 
intellect, demolishing the social landmarks of 
generations; leaving no memory of the barriers 
it had arisen to destroy. 

She, too, lived out her happy hour alone. 

On opening her eyes the next morning, her 
first impression was of chill uneasiness, swept 


Kenelm’s Desire 


178 

wholly aside by the warm tide of returning 
memory. Throughout the forenoon’s ride down 
the placid Sound to Seattle, her heart rested in 
the happiness of the past. She dared not yet 
put forth her hand to disturb the veil which hung 
before what was to come. 

One after another she lived over the gay, 
pathetic or absurd experiences of their sum- 
mer. She dwelt proudly on Kenelm’s proved 
courage and intellectual capability; forgivingly 
on his eccentricities of temper ; lovingly on 
the thousand and one kindnesses of thought 
and deed which their home intimacy had re- 
vealed. 

Viewed in the perspective she now could com- 
mand, he seemed more admirable than ever be- 
fore. He lacked just enough of the heroic to 
keep him adorably human. 

She compared him with the almost forgotten 
other men of her acquaintance. They paled to 
inanity. 

Doctor Meredith would appreciate Kenelm, in 
his undemonstrative way, and Kenelm would be 
sure to like the doctor. 

By the side of Kenelm’s sturdy frame and 
swart visage she pictured Dr. Meredith’s tall, 
trim figure, frank face and pointed brown beard. 
His sunny, quizzical smile when he should hear 
that she had been at last caught in the love- 
mesh brightened her fancy. 


The Coming of Sheewin 179 

He had more than once pronounced her too 
much an artist to make a good lover. 

Oh, Dr. Meredith! 

But he could not know of long, twilight even- 
ings in the canoe, and of the path that leads to 
the heart of the moon, and of the trail of Katie’s 
love-song across a listening sea. 

The crowded wharf of Seattle, which she had 
watched indifferently for some time, now grated 
against their boat. Looking upward. Desire de- 
scried the modish figure of the friend she had 
planned to visit; delicately world-like and erect. 

‘‘Dear me. Desire! You look brown enough to 
talk Chinook!” her friend cried out, with charac- 
teristic airiness of greeting. 

Tempering the unfeigned pleasure of the re- 
union, Desire noted that Miss Hallam’s gown 
was of a later cut than her remembrance of the 
fashions of the spring. Her own natty travelling 
suit looked softer than was desirable, and — yes 
— she must abandon her summer hat at the very 
first opportunity. 

“A hat? My dear, the fall modes are just in, 
and they are perfectly sweet. We can stop on 
our way up town, if you like, although you look 
perfectly dear, just as you are; you funny little 
Nut-Brown Mayde. Five coats of tan every- 
where except on your hair; that looks yellower 
than ever. Have you had a perfectly gorgeous 
time? You must tell me all about it. I thought 


i8o 


Kenelm’s Desire 


you never would tear yourself away from your 
canoe and your beloved Indians.’’ 

Desire winced. 

‘‘You don’t know the kind of Indians I have 
been among,” she replied, bravely, tears close to 
the surface. 

They stopped the car to get off at the correct 
millinery emporium. On the corner of the broad 
pavement sat huddled a ragged, filthy-looking 
squaw. In contrast to her bleared, blue-black 
irids and flabby redundancy of flesh, a coarsely 
handsome but equally dirty half-blood girl of 
fourteen or thereabout knelt just across a pile of 
cheap woven grass mats of which the two were 
endeavoring to dispose. 

The squaw did not speak English, but leered 
execrably at Desire, in whom her shrewd eye 
detected a tourist, and logically a victim. De- 
sire hastened on. 

“I suppose they are no novelty to you,” Miss 
Hallam commented. “I am glad you are not so 
crazy to hang around them as most sight-seers 
are.” 

“The ones I know are not in the least like 
those,” Desire explained. “They are quite dif- 
ferent.” 

“Yes, there are good Indians and bad In- 
dians, her friend conceded. “But, in the end, 
they are all ‘Injun,’ the best you can make 
of them.” 


The Coming of Sheewin i8i 

wish you wouldn’t speak like that,” Desire 
protested, her voice sharpened by suppressed agi- 
tation. “I — I — am — I am — under the great- 
est obligations to Indian families for my summer’s 
enjoyment. I dislike to hear you lump them all 
together. It isn’t true. They are as different — 
from — that! — as you are.” 

^‘See here, little lady, you must know Thana 
Allerdyce. I have told her about your coming, 
and she is crazy to meet you. She’s a collector; 
Indian baskets and curios. In fact, I have al- 
ready asked her to call, for I knew she would 
want to find out if you have brought back a new 
weave in baskets or anything like a rarity in 
Alaskan carving. She’ll perfectly hate you from 
the moment her eyes drop on that silver crow on 
your wrist. Next to being a real Indian, in 
Thana’s estimation, is being an Indian faddist. 
It is all the go, just now, in Seattle. I have an 
Indian corner myself, which has one or two 
things that even Thana cannot duplicate. Oh, 
you’ll get enthused — but you are that already, 
of course.” 

What astounds me,” Miss Allerdyce re- 
marked, in the course of a half-hour call, the 
day after Desire’s arrival, ‘^is the small amount 
of effort necessary to bring them into the pale of 
civilization. You can’t really civilize a China- 
man, he is already too sophisticated; and a 


i82 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Christianized Japanese always makes me feel 
uncanny. But you can pick up some black- 
haired little rat of a Siwash, put him into a white 
family and send him to school, and in a few 
years you have a finished American citizen on 
your hands.’’ 

^^Not every Siwash, Thana. Not very many, 
to my notion.” 

^^No,” Miss Allerdyce admitted, “but it does 
happen oftener than people imagine who haven’t 
looked into the matter with as much interest as 
I. How did you find it in Wake Siah, Miss 
Llewellyn?” 

“I found the same variation,” Desire replied, 
with difficulty. “Many who are half and quarter 
Indian,” thinking of Lydia and Althea, “could not 
be told from Americans of European descent.” 

“0-o-oh!” Miss Hallam exclaimed. 

“They must be Alaskan,” Miss Allerdyce pro- 
nounced, with authority. “You don’t find that 
among Puget Sound Indians.” 

It was a relief when Miss Allerdyce arose to 
go, after arranging for a luncheon at her studio 
on the day following. 

Desire went to her room to have it out with 
herself. She told this troublesome self that it was 
useless to go on pretending she did not care ; every 
sentence touching on the Indian subject had dealt 
a fresh blow to her heart, still sore from the strug- 
gle she had passed through in Wake Siah. 


The Coming of Sheewin 183 

She tried to comfort herself by acknowledging 
that these society faddists who discussed Indian 
character with the same grade of interest as that 
with which they pronounced upon the peculiari- 
ties of different weaves of basketry, would be the 
first to discern and admire the fineness of the 
man to whom she was engaged. 

But if they knew of the engagement? 

She pictured Miss Allerdyce’s connoisseur-like 
enjoyment of the situation. 

Alice Hallam would flatly refuse to believe it, 
preferring the hypothesis of temporary insanity 
brought on by the intensity of Desire’s lyrical 
preoccupation. 

The question narrowed down to this: could 
she better endure to live without Kenelm, or 
without the approbation of her social acquaint- 
ances ? 

Alice Hallam was but a minute constituent of 
her life; Miss Allerdyce not even an influence. 
Their approval was a small thing for which to 
sacrifice her happiness. 

How insignificant and cheap seemed their fad 
dilettantism compared with the virile humanity 
of her betrothed! 

His image happily chased away her small vexa- 
tion. She abandoned herself to revelling in the 
remembrance of his words, his tones, the soft 
duskiness of his flexible hands, the tell-tale 
dimples. 


184 


Kenelm^s Desire 


For ten weeks there had been no day, some 
hours of which they had not spent in company, 
or which had not brought her a written message 
from his hand. How was she to learn to get on 
without Kenelm? She smiled to recognize how 
poignantly she had begun to miss him. 

She wished for means to prove her loyalty. 
On a wild impulse of abnegation she resolved to 
announce her engagement; remembrance of the 
respect due her mother caused her to reconsider. 

She would write a letter; a love-letter. She 
did not name it that, but one might read the 
unframed adjective in the delicious curve of her 
mouth and the shine of her downcast eyes. Ken- 
elm read it between the lines of the tantalizing 
pages which she ran out to post with her own 
hands when she went down to dinner. 

The next day, at the studio luncheon, a blue- 
eyed magazine illustrator fell upon Desire’s crow 
bracelet with avidity. 

‘‘Thana hasn’t a thing that can touch it,” she 
declared with vehement exaggeration. ‘‘Where 
did you get it?” 

“At Wake Siah.” 

“Wake Siah! Do they make such things 
there?” 

“It is Alaskan. An old piece of tribe silver.” 

“Genuinely antique in carving and design,” 
enviously. “How did you work it?” 


The Coming of Sheewin 185 

Desire wished to ignore the question, but the 
ingenuous blue eyes demanded an answer. 

‘^It was given me by an Indian woman, who 
inherited it. She is the last representative of the 
chiefs of her tribe.’’ 

‘‘Oh, I say! But weren’t you in the very 
midst of it! I’ll go to Wake Siah myself and 
hunt them up. With all these popular Alaskan 
stories to illustrate, I really need new types. Is 
she typical — this chief tainness ? ” 

“I am no authority on types. What impressed 
me was her civilization.” 

“Then she’s no good. I’ve no use for civilized 
Indians. They must be realistically dirty and 
ragged, to fit into my business. What does she 
wear?” 

“A neatly fitting starched calico wrapper, 
usually, and a white linen collar fastened by a 
gold brooch.” 

“Pshaw! No thank you. No starched calico 
Indians for me, if you please!” 

“Miss Llewellyn must know Gonzales!” Miss 
Allerdyce remarked, between two bites of a 
luscious black olive. Desire shook her head 
enquiringly. 

“No? How does that happen? He was ex- 
ploited a good deal before he went to Paris, two 
years ago.” 

“I was in Germany then. Who is he?” 

“Why, he is an Indian; the Indian. The 


Kenelm’s Desire 


1 86 

most romantic figure in San Francisco. I read 
only this morning that he has just returned.’’ 

‘‘For pity’s sake, Thana Allerdyce, don’t go 
into raptures until we know what they are 
about.” 

“I’ll begin at the beginning. He is a Mexican 
Indian; a pure Aztec. He grew up poor as 
dirt and entirely uneducated. He used to work 
for two or three cents a day, when he could get 
work to do, and take the money home to his old 
mother. Many a time he spent it for her food 
and told her he had eaten, when he hadn’t. He 
would satisfy her scruples, then tighten up his 
belt and go to sleep to forget his hunger.” 

“Behold Thana with a sympathetic theme!” 

“It’s true. It nearly ruined his digestion. Well, 
he worked, off and on, for a well-to-do Mexican 
woman who was good to him. But she moved 
to San Francisco and Gonzales was friendless. 
After a while his mother died, and he made up 
his mind to walk to San Francisco to ask his 
Mexican patroness to help him learn to make 
statues. That was his ambition. So he started 
from the City of Mexico to San Francisco — 
over a thousand miles. Think of it! penniless, 
and actually begged his way on foot. He got 
there, barefooted and in rags, knowing no Eng- 
lish. He found his friend’s house at last — to 
be told she had been dead a year.” 

“Oh, Thana!” 


The Coming of Sheewin 187 

“Yes, dead. But her husband was so im- 
pressed that he took Gonzales in hand, had 
him taught to read and write, and sent him to 
Hopkins Institute. The artists made an article 
of faith of him, he showed such genius. They 
finally sent him to Paris where he got the notice 
of some of the best men. 

“He has medals and honorable mention of all 
sorts; two statues by him have been placed in the 
salon of the Champs de Mars, and he has just 
come back to California on the proceeds of his 
sales. The French call him a genius.’’ 

Desire glowed with enthusiasm. “I must know 
him,” she cried. “Who are his friends?” 

“Oh, everybody who knows anything of art. 
Any Hopkins man can manage it for you. I 
wish I had your chance of meeting him.” 

“As an Indian or as an artist?” Alice Hallam 
inquired, slyly. 

“As both, and as a man.” Desire looked 
grateful. 

“That reminds me of the man Alys Merridew, 
the landscape painter, married,” said the little 
illustrator. 

“For Heaven’s sake!” Thana interrupted im- 
patiently. “Don’t say ^the man Alys Merridew 
married’ ; say ‘ the man who married Alys Merri- 
dew.’ I have met him. His professional and 
social standing are fully as well established as 
hers. I know him personally. He is a gentle- 


i88 


Kenelm^s Desire 


man and a scholar. In Detroit, where she lived, 
no one ever thinks of it as a condescension for 
her to have married him. They all think she 
made a remarkably good match.’’ 

‘‘And who is he?” Desire asked, curiously. 

“Haven’t you heard? She married Professor 
Nadowessioux, lecturer on languages at Ann 
Arbor; a pure-blood Sioux — directly related to 
Sitting Bull.” 

On the point of going. Desire was persuaded 
once more to the piano. 

She sat at the keyboard, brimming with tender 
joyousness, her heart far off with her dark-browed 
lover in the North. 

In those moments of exquisite elation came 
into final form the brief love idyll of her suite — 
Sheewin the Love-bringer — beneath the caress- 
ing languor of her hands. 


CHAPTER XVII 


FRAU EDA 

W HAT is it, Desire Frau Eda took 
possession of two hesitating hands and 
drew their owner around from where 
she stood behind her mother’s low rocking-chair, 
making pretense to smooth the graying waves of 
abundant pale blonde hair. 

^^What is what, liebe Mutter?” 

The words were smothered ; Desire, not a 
heavy physical burden, sat by this time on her 
mother’s lap, both arms wreathed around Frau 
Eda’s neck. 

Frau Eda kissed her daughter’s hair. Their 
first excited outburst of question, reply and narra- 
tion was well past and the time for confidences 
close at hand. 

‘Hs it about your work?” A negative move- 
ment of Desire’s head. About you?” An as- 
senting stir. ‘‘And,” anxiously, “someone else?” 
Another mute assent. The mother smiled in the 
midst of her anxiety. “I knew he wrote very 
often,” she whispered, “and that he had heard 


189 


190 


Kenelm’s Desire 


a number of times from you. I should not have 
let him meet the boat and bring you over if I 
had not thought you would like it.’’ 

Desire straightened up in shocked surprise. 

“Who — Dr. Meredith?” she demanded, in 
evident astonishment. Mrs. Llewellyn stared at 
her daughter, amazed. 

“There is someone else?” modulating from 
surprise into reproach. “And I have never even 
heard his name! Oh, Desire!” 

Desire again hid her face on her mother’s 
shoulder. 

“Yes you have,” she whispered tremulously, 
“hundreds of times. It is Kenelm.” 

“Kenelm? Kenelm who?” her mother asked, 
dazed. 

“ Kenelm Fraser — oh — you know ! ” 

Mrs. Llewellyn collected her thoughts in si- 
lence, then spoke with impressive gravity. 

“My child, your nerves are overwrought. You 
are in one of your artistic enthusiasms and have 
idealized your protege into a hero. I have heard 
of this — Indian — as you remind me, hun- 
dreds of times; but in a very different connection. 
Don’t be so unhappy,” for Desire lay trembling 
from head to foot, her breath coming in quick, 
faint sobs. “It isn’t as though I did not know 
and understand you so well. He has been such 
a large part of your theme that your absorption 
in it has unconsciously included him. Don’t fret, 


Frau Eda 


191 

my Desire, you are safe with me. It will come 
out right, sooner than you think.” 

She kissed her daughter’s tear- wet cheek. 

Desire had struggled to a sitting posture. Her 
lips trembled when she essayed to speak, but her 
eyes shone clear and steady. 

musn’t let you make that mistake, mama. 
It isn’t just art — it is truth.” 

Frau Eda surveyed her as one bereft of her 
senses. 

‘Ht is not truth!” she asserted resolutely. ‘Ht 
is a dream, a whimsey of the maddest kind. My 
child,” shaking her lightly, as though to awaken 
her from a trance, ^‘do you realize that you are 
talking of an Indian?” 

The blood left Desire’s face, but she grew 
quite calm. 

“I was afraid you would look at it in that 
way.” 

‘^God in Heaven! Is there any other way? 
Tell me! Is he not an Indian?” 

‘‘Yes, mama, but if you knew him — ” 

“Would that change his nationality?” 

“No, but it would change your opinion.” 

“Then, God willing, I shall never see him.” 
She caught Desire fiercely to her heart. “Listen, 
Liebling, I forbid you to write to him for a week. 
It is a mania; an obsession. We will be happy 
together, you will work in other lines, and a week 
from now you will wonder at yourself even more 


192 


Kenelm’s Desire 


than I do. I should not have let you go away 
up there alone. But you have always been so 
discreet — and you have travelled so much — ah, 
well, we will live it down together.” 

‘^It can never change, mama. If I don’t tell 
you so, I shall be deceiving you.” 

^‘Herzchen, you have brought a great gr — 
anxiety home to me. Don’t you feel you owe 
me a little bit of consideration?” 

‘^Oh, Miitterchen!” kissing her remorsefully. 

‘^Then promise not to commit yourself any 
further for a week. You owe that much to my 
authority. We will talk it over gently but sanely. 
It will seem as impossible to you, by that time, 
as to me; now that you are in your normal at- 
mosphere.” 

At the end of that cruel, daylight week. Desire 
wrote to Kenelm. 

“I know you will be angry and think 
scornfully of me for not keeping my promise. 
You are so rigidly upright. But you and I 
are young and better able to bear grief than 
mother. We have more interests in the 
world. She has only me. Don’t urge me 
to change. You know this was my feeling 
about it all along. When I yielded, it was 
to a selfish impulse. But I meant it and 
everything I said in my other letter. And I 
love you. I did not have courage to write 


Frau Eda 


193 


that before, but I can put it down now with- 
out a blush. Never forget that this is so. 
It is my only justification for causing you 
such pain. Write to me, just as always. 
And don’t be angry long.” 

‘‘Herzchen,” Frau Eda pleaded, clearing her 
eyes of tears that she might read to the end, “if 
this were not for your own, ultimate good, I 
should not let it go. You know that?” 

“I know that you think so, mother. Will you 
please not speak about it any more?” 

Frau Eda did not see Kenelm’s reply. She 
knew when it came, and watched most anxiously 
for its effect; not knowing whether to be relieved 
or alarmed at the absence of disturbance caused 
by its arrival. 

“Don’t worry, mama, it is all over; but Ido 
not care to talk about it,” Desire said, with gentle 
finality, divining her mother’s uneasiness. 

The letter from Kenelm ran like this: 

“You are attempting a wrong against 
yourself and against me. Some day you will 
see it and make it right again. You cannot 
break our engagement. I have no thought 
of giving you up, for you love me. When 
you can honestly write that you do not love 
me it will be time to think of it. That will 
never happen. But I shall not remind you 
by so much as one word of my claim. When 
your love and your sense of justice have over- 


194 


Kenelm’s Desire 


come the false conventions of society, you 
will bid me come to you. It will take no 
more than one word, but that word must 
come from you. Until you speak, I shall 
not again ask you to be my wife. 

‘^Of course I expect to hear from you and 
to write, but not more than this, to-day. I 
am not angry, and my love will never change. 

‘^kenelm. 

^‘My darling, do not make me wait too 
long.’^ 


CHAPTER XVIII 


FIGHTING BOB 

I T was early in the same year that Bob Lana- 
han had come to British Columbia. 
Lanahan’s sobriquet of ‘^Fighting Bob’’ 
had preceded him and had given rise to a general 
interest in the man, stimulated by his fine per- 
sonal appearance and confident address. 

His successful fight against the Dominion gov- 
ernment in the matter of railway concessions in 
Assiniboia had been followed throughout British 
Columbia with sympathetic interest and had in- 
sured him a hearty welcome when, discarded by 
the political element of the very commonwealth 
he had served, he had indignantly turned his 
footsteps Westward. 

The man was a strongly educational influence 
for Kenelm, whom from the first Lanahan had 
singled out as the most important factor legally, 
perhaps politically, in the future of the town. 

Kenelm, after his cautious habit, did not' vouch 
for the intrinsic value of this new accession to 
the legal fraternity of Wake Siah. 


195 


196 


Kenelm’s Desire 


He appreciated Lanahan’s wit, aggressive 
methods, and, above all, the dynamic force of 
his personality; rendered genuine respect to the 
tactics and success which had characterized his 
anti-monopoly contest in Assiniboia; and studied 
his methods of dealing with judges, juries and 
public assemblages. 

From these motives, aided by a certain surface 
enjoyment each derived from the superficial 
characteristics of the other, the two men were 
much together. 

The question on which Lanahan chose to enter 
British Columbia politics was one of constantly 
growing importance to the miners and fishermen 
— that of Asiatic immigration. At Wake Siah, 
Asiatics were especially to be dreaded in the 
mines, on account of their ignorance and indiffer- 
ence to scientific safety methods. So the subject 
was of paramount importance during the winter 
which followed Desire’s second visit to Wake 
Siah. 

Kenelm, though no longer secretary of the 
Labor Union, was an influential member and 
was always to be found on important commit- 
tees; being chairman of that on public demon- 
strations. This formal function gave him added 
importance in the eyes of his fellow-citizens and 
accustomed him to the small conventionalities of 
the platform. 

It was he who brought forward and advocated 


Fighting Bob 


197 


the idea of combining on a labor representative 
in the spring parliamentary elections, for which 
the wires were already being laid. 

Such were the matters that kept him busy 
during the dark months of the first winter after 
Desirees departure, in which he accomplished a 
quantity of public and private work that as- 
tounded his new political ally and filled the Chief 
with suppressed vainglory; although the gentle 
foster-mother bemoaned to her friends that Ken- 
nie was growing too thin to be pretty. 

The dimples in his brown cheeks had, for a 
fact, spread to dusky hollows; but he endured 
well; his race inheritance helped him there. He 
was not so consciously unhappy as the romancer 
might desire; save in an occasional tempestuous 
hour beneath the stars. 

Nothing could shake his faith in Desire’s love 
for him. Her first sweet, sweet letter lay always 
near his heart. He felt that she was not one to 
change; above all, not one to marry elsewhere 
without love. In this assurance he wrote cheery, 
confidential letters, throughout the hard-worked 
winter, watched jealously for her replies, read 
them over again in every unoccupied interval of 
the days of their receipt, and told himself he was 
happy in waiting until he had won the right to 
her mother’s consideration and to the word De- 
sire was sure to send him whenever the time 
should be ripe. 


Kenelm’s Desire 


198 

“Lydia writes that Desire has had a gay 
winter of it/’ Althea said, one early spring day 
when they met alone on the veranda of the 
Custom House. 

“So have you, they say.” 

“Don’t you believe it! Nobody ever has any 
kind of a time in this old hole of a place.” 

“What about McLeod?” 

Althea shot a glance at him from under her 
lashes. 

“McLeod’s nothing to me. I don’t like him 
— sure I don’t!” 

“Evidently you don’t tell him that.” 

“Bet your life I don’t! A girl’s got to have 
some one, and he’s dead gone on me, sure! I 
cut Lydia out too slick, just as I said I would. 
But it was just in fun. Lydia didn’t like it a 
little bit. She was awful mad, that time you 
gave her the talking to about Angus. She’s got 
it in for you all right. But she wasn’t fool 
enough to keep on, after that, you bet you! But 
look out! She’ll get even with you some day for 
having to hand Angus over to me.” 

“What are you going to do with him?” 

Althea blushed faintly, with unwonted pleasure. 
It had been a long time since Kenelm had evinced 
this degree of interest in his pretty cousin’s affairs. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. Throw 
him over when I get tired. I’m tired enough of 
him, now,” appealingly 


Fighting Bob 


199 


guess it’s a question of who throws first. 
A girl can’t expect to keep McLeod dangling 
after her forever. He is too fickle.” 

“What you bet I can’t keep him a year?” 

Kenelm yawned impatiently. 

“If I were a girl I shouldn’t bank too much 
on McLeod,” he replied, rising. 

He went away. Althea sat, chin on palm, 
elbow propped on her knee, gazing stolidly out 
to sea. A dull flush blurred her translucent 
skin; her laughter-loving lips were closed in a 
tight, gray-hued line. 

Later she arose, went into the parlor, settled 
her hair before the glass, raised her white lace 
parasol, studied the effect of her exquisite, all- 
white reflection, smoothed ineffectually at the 
annoying lines about her eyes and set off down 
town in time to intercept Angus McLeod on his 
way home from the bank. 

“Golly! You look uncommon gay,” was Mc- 
Leod’s greeting. “Looks like summer again. 
Pressing the season — eh?” 

“What’s the dif! I’m tired of dark dresses. 
Winter is so long! When the sun came out hot 
to-day I just got into these, regardless. I love 
to wear white.” 

“You’d make a stunning bride,” he murmured 
suggestively. 

Althea’s face hardened. She knew and he knew 
that he had it in his power to make her one. 


200 


Kenelm’s Desire 


It was not that Althea loved McLeod, as De- 
sire understood love. On the slightest encour- 
agement she could have given Kenelm a devotion 
exceeding Desire’s in intensity if not in kind. 
But Kenelm’ s indifference was unalterable, and 
Althea had come to feel much alone; especially 
since Jessie’s engagement to her Maddox. 

An irritability foreign to Althea’s disposition 
began to display itself at uncertain intervals, to 
be atoned for by spells of remorseful tenderness, 
equally uncharacteristic. 

‘‘Don’t mind me, ma,” she pleaded, one morn- 
ing, after an outbreak of fretfulness more marked 
than its predecessors. “I didn’t mean to be 
cross, but some way I can’t help it. I get up in 
the morning feeling so bad, and my head aches 
and I’m just no good for anything. What’s the 
use of living, anyway! I’d give anything to feel 
as good as Jess does. I know when I’m can- 
tankerous, but I don’t seem able to help it. I 
don’t mean anything, and I’m ashamed of my- 
self all the time. You mustn’t mind me.” 

She knew she did not truly love McLeod. Her 
heart never leaped at his entrance nor ached 
when he went away. But the poor girl hun- 
gered to be loved. She read easily beneath 
Kenelm’s imperturbability the strength of his 
passion for Desire. Before her eyes every hour 
was unrolled the pretty romance of Jessie and 
the school-teacher. She longed unconsciously for 


Fighting Bob 


201 


the sweetness of love; the caresses which nature 
had bountifully qualified her to inspire and to 
reward. 

Perhaps McLeod subconsciously realized her 
attitude. There can hardly be a question that 
if she had loved him with the intensity of her 
nature he would have surrendered wholly to the 
strong attraction she exercised, and have married 
her in defiance of his genteel family. 

To-day they sauntered merrily along according 
to their wont, pausing once to call a challenge 
through the open door of Kenelm’s law office, 
where he and Lanahan sat in deep and animated 
talk. 

^‘It means a big fight and lots of speech- 
making,’’ Kenelm resumed, when the two had 
wandered on. ‘‘And the Provincial Mining Com- 
pany will work for every vote. It will cost them 
a pile of money every month to replace the 
Chinamen with white labor. But the question 
must be settled in parliament. No man in the 
province can work this thing up for us as well 
as you can. You have the prestige of your rail- 
road victory, and better than that, you have the 
grit and are a convincing speaker. You under- 
stand effective methods of attack and are not 
afraid to use them. Besides, you have practically 
nothing at stake; or rather, nothing to lose and 
all to win. The only important legaLwork here 
is in the employ of the Company, and Hamilton 


202 


Kenelm’s Desire 


controls all that. A chance like Halboard’s 
would not come again in twenty years. Then, 
you have no entanglements. There are no 
family interests to be endangered by your op- 
position to the Company. Precious few men 
in this neighborhood that the Company hasn’t 
some sort of string on, I can tell you.” 

^‘By the time you have got up and said all 
that in public a few times, Old Sandy will have 
come to the conclusion that there’s another Wake 
Siah man he hasn’t any strings on, besides Fight- 
ing Bob of Assiniboia.” 

Kenelm’s face clouded. 

‘‘I hate that part of it!” he cried, with a 
touch of his boyhood’s impulsiveness. ‘‘Mr. 
Alexander never treated me anything but right. 
I have worked for him. My first public speech 
was in his interest; because his interest and the 
public good were the same. He got me my 
chance to study law, and spoke the first en- 
couraging words, when I was half afraid to make 
the break. Set aside the Chief, there’s no one 
I owe so much to as I do to Old Sandy.” 

“He thinks he’s got you where the wool is 
short, in the Johnny Halboard case.” 

“He is not the only one that thinks it. But 
I’m ready whenever they are. It will have to 
come on again before long, now. But about your 
candidacy. The Union will back you if I say 
the word. What are you going to do about it?” 


Fighting Bob 


203 


‘^What am I going to do?^’ Lanahan 
arose, spread his legs apart to insure a broad 
foundation, ran his fingers through his brist- 
ling iron-gray curls, tossed his outspread hand 
upward with an oratorical flourish and an- 
nounced in tones of rhetorical thunder, ‘‘Within 
a year I am going to be Premier of British 
Columbia!’’ 

“If you want me to work for the man, I’m 
with you,” the Chief said to Kenelm, later. “It 
won’t be hard to get him elected. He’s new, 
and takes the people’s fancy, uncommon.” His 
tone was dubious. 

“What’s the matter with him? He’s a born 
fighter, and that’s the kind of man we want.” 

“You want to look out he doesn’t kick over 
the fish-kettle.” 

“You think he’s likely to?” 

“Why isn’t he Premier of Assiniboia to-day? 
He doesn’t know how to get on with people. 
He saved his province from corporation slavery 
and made himself the most popular man in 
western Canada; but he couldn’t wait for his 
favor to ripen, like. He was too impatient to 
get hold of his pay. Canadians want to go slow, 
as you may say, when they feel they are under 
an obligation. They don’t want to feel that any 
man owns them because he has done them a 
service. They are willing to pay back, but they 
want to do it in their own way and not be 


204 


Kenelm’s Desire 


hurried. It won’t do to build on public favor. 
Kanucks won’t stand dunning.” 

There isn’t anyone else with the ability,” Ken- 
elm argued, after some moments of concentrated 
thought. ^^We must have a popular speaker and 
a man who knows the ropes. Lanahan is the 
best in the field. We’ll hope he has learned 
something by his experience in Assiniboia.” 

^‘That kind of man never learns,” the Chief 
responded trenchantly. “But we’ll combine and 
do our best to keep him from getting the start of 
us. Work him just right, and he is undoubtedly 
the man of all others for our money.” 

At the public meeting of the Union that night, 
Kenelm, after preliminary consultation with the 
leaders, proposed Lanahan’ s name and set forth 
his qualifications urgently. An unexpected oppo- 
sition arose amongst the younger men, where 
Kenelm’ s influence had always been considered 
supreme. It was headed by Kenelm’ s half-blood 
cousin, Sabellita Island Jimmie, on the score of 
Lanahan’ s brief period of residence in the 
province. 

Kenelm, astounded and indignant at his 
usually taciturn adherent’s unexpected political 
independence, made a second stirring speech, in 
which he laid added stress on the stranger’s 
legislative experience, his familiarity with parlia- 
mentary methods of procedure, and his effective- 
ness as an orator. 


Fighting Bob 


205 


During the final words of Kenelm’s eulogy, Jim 
gradually elongated himself upward in readiness 
to take the floor. He was truly a fine-looking 
son of the soil; tall, spare, erect as the Indian 
of romance; splendidly browned by the sun and 
the sea, as much as by his native blood, and 
gentle in his heart as he was omnipotent with his 
fists. 

‘Hf it’s good speaking we want,” he said with 
the swift incisiveness of the habitually silent 
man, ‘‘what’s the matter with Captain Ken?” 

Kenelm’s dark skin showed pale with the shock 
of the unexpected suggestion and the tempestu- 
ous roar of applause (evidently premeditated by 
the younger set) which it instantaneously evoked. 

He was human, and avowedly ambitious. With 
lightning swiftness came a vision of what this 
would mean to Desire and to her mother. Then 
the practical hard sense, which had done and was 
to do such good service to this alien contestant 
in the arena of unsentimental verities, steadied 
his nerves and strengthened his will to the resist- 
ance of what he felt to be a mischievous tempta- 
tion. He raised his hand for silence, which fell 
as suddenly as the tumult had arisen. 

“It’s pretty rough on a fellow, to put up a joke 
like that,” he said in a tone of mingled jocularity 
and decision. “You chaps don’t have to send 
me to parliament to hear me speak. I’m on tap 
every day, right here at the same old stand. All 


2o6 


Kenelm’s Desire 


youVe got to do when you want to hear me talk 
is just to come around at your convenience and 
turn me on. It doesn’t cost you a cent. But,” 
with a grave dignity that impressed them, ‘^it 
would be an expensive luxury to send me, a raw, 
inexperienced lad, to represent your interests at 
Victoria. I should be out-maneuvered at every 
point, and you would have to pay the damage. 
There’s but one parliamentarian among us — 
Fighting Bob of Wake Siah!” 

The unlooked-for adaptation of the well-known 
sobriquet captured the crowd, already a bit un- 
easy over their previous enthusiasm. The Union 
leaders, at first prey to genuine consternation, 
now led the acclaim, and Bob Lanahan’s candi- 
dacy became an established fact. 

^‘This isn’t the first time, by many, that 
Fraser’s helped us out of a pinch by the ready 
turn of his tongue,” was the sentiment of the 
private executive session, later in the night. In 
this spirit they adopted a resolution declaring 
Kenelm Fraser political manager of the coming 
contest, and official campaign speaker of the 
Labor Union; with instructions to prepare a 
joint programme of public speeches to be given 
by himself and the candidate in the interest of 
anti-Asiatic legislation, throughout the province. 

‘‘And that’s one for Kennie and two for 
themselves,” the Chief could not refrain from 
remarking, “But it’s right enough. It won’t 


Fighting Bob 


207 


hurt the lad to wait. Many a smart chap has 
been spoiled by forcing.’’ 

‘‘He’d have been an M. P. P., too easy,” Jimmie 
Donovan responded gloomily; as whole-hearted a 
supporter as on the evening of Kenelm’s maiden 
speech, when he had led the rescue party up the 
bandstand steps, some six years back. “The 
Union’s booked to elect its man this year, sure, 
and we boys were out in full force to stampede the 
Union for Ken. Ken Fraser’s the coming man, 
and don’t you forget it.” 

Just at first Kenelm was a bit daunted at the 
speech-making prospect unexpectedly opened up 
before him. 

“Understand — I don’t intend to pose as a 
freak speaker,” he announced to his colleague, 
during an early one of their many consultations. 
“I don’t want any attempt made to draw crowds 
for the sake of hearing an educated Indian. You 
and I are to be on exactly the same footing. 
People may come to see the Indian, but they 
will have to listen to the man. I am proud of 
my descent, and I don’t intend it shall be used 
for a fake advertisement. An Indian subject 
should have the same right to be heard as a 
white man; no more and no less. My citizen- 
ship, which I may be considered to owe to the 
Chief, is exactly the same qualification as that 
of a white man. I shall use it in exactly the 
same connection.” 


208 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Lanahan leaned back to look the young man 
up and down for some seconds before delivering 
the burden of his reply. 

^Traser/^ he then said admiringly, ‘‘’pon 
honor! I don^t know whether to call it grit or 
whether to call it gall; but whichever it is — 
you’ve got it!” 


CHAPTER XIX 


TIME FLIES 

T ime flies. Experience becomes history. 
Kenelm’s great case came and went, 
bringing to him anxiety, discouragement, 
enmity and the fierce exhilaration of triumph. 
It dropped into the receding current of the years, 
and Kenelm remained, essentially, much the 
same man. 

Well under thirty, he had come to be looked 
upon as one of the solid men of the town; a 
determining element in the civil organization; a 
barrister who never lost a case; a power to be 
reckoned with in the manipulation of local 
politics. 

Lady Pelley, who had met him at the Gover- 
nor- GeneraPs reception in Ottawa, while he was 
putting the Halboard case through the Dominion 
courts, was avowedly impressed by this blossom- 
ing of the wildwood stock of which she had 
witnessed the swell of earliest bourgeoning. 

The ensuing late autumn she had spent again 
in British Columbia; entertained while at Wake 


209 


210 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Siah by Mr. Alexander ; and, despite the unhealed 
rupture between the two men, not without seeing 
a good bit of Kenelm. 

Rumor, she found, had not altogether forgotten 
Desire in connection with the rising Indian bar- 
rister, whose Native blood, after the triumphant 
issue of his important first case, seemed to work 
for rather than against him. The townspeople at 
large grew to pride themselves on his picturesque 
history and personality, and developed a some- 
what exaggerated belief in his ability and his 
good luck. 

‘‘If she cared for him a year and a half ago, 
what would she think of him now?’’ the far- 
sighted old lady asked herself. Desire, given the 
opportunity, might even yet follow in the foot- 
steps of her erring ancestress, the Lady Flora, of 
rebellious memory. 

The anxious dame felt responsibility in the 
matter; the original misalliance could never have 
occurred, had opportunity not been afforded by 
the youthful godmother’s intimacy with Lady 
Pelley’s own maternal relatives. North Ireland 
people of quality. 

During a certain visit to them in the romantic, 
early days of the youthful queen, Lady Flora 
the First had chanced to meet with Morgan 
Llewellyn, only son of a reputable Belfast fam- 
ily, for several generations in trade. Morgan 
Llewellyn inherited the dash and determination of 


Time Flies 


2II 


his Welsh father, who had married the heiress of 
the preceding generation of Belfast linen drapers, 
to endow her children with his alien name and 
a modicum of the wild Welsh strain of rebellion. 

In her childhood Lady Pelley often had heard 
recounted the tempestuous details of that un- 
happy struggle between love and social caste, 
which had ended in the terrifying evanishment 
of the culprits into the trackless wilds of a still 
new continent. 

Two lifetimes had passed since then. Lady 
Pelley had early gone through her own storm 
period. But the had proved less courageous 
than her godmother; or her lover had lacked 
the Welsh daring of the Llewellyn; or — well, 
this Lady Flora Hamilton had become Lady 
Archibald Pelley, all in good time. 

She admired Kenelm, but would have decided 
as sternly against him as, fifty years before, she 
had submitted unresistingly to the decision of her 
family, in her own transitory rebellion against the 
tyranny of her caste. 

She called on Desire one day, during a break 
she made in San Francisco in her southward 
journey to spend the winter in Los Angeles. 

Frau Eda and the maid happening to be out. 
Desire opened the door, to stand inhospitably 
rigid for the first startled moment of recognition. 
Before her autocratic Ladyship could resent the 
apparent coldness of the reception. Desire had 


212 


Kenelm’s Desire 


caught her impulsively by both hands and led her 
into her own bare and isolated workroom, where 
she might be sure of having her visitor and all 
her visitor brought of tender association and pos- 
sible news to herself. 

She had heard from Kenelm of Lady Pelley’s 
stay in Wake Siah, and certain details of the 
companionship which had sprung up between the 
incongruous two. 

Despite the open-hearted hospitality of Desire’s 
greeting, Lady Pelley, after the first quarter of 
an hour, became conscious of a distinct sensation 
of disappointment. She had come expecting to 
read frank-faced Desire with the same or greater 
facility than that with which she had interpreted 
the more reserved man whom popular report had 
designated as having been her suitor; and who 
had taken some pride in letting Lady Pelley 
infer that in heart he remained so, yet. 

But Desire discussed Wake Siah and all ger- 
mane to it with a puzzling ease of words and 
manner which deceived and irritated her cosmo- 
politan relative. 

^^She couldn’t really have cared for him — a 
girl’s light fancy for a romantically situated 
man!” was her conclusion, reached in a mix- 
ture of resentment and relief. 

Lady Pelley liked Kenelm, distinctly and 
heartily. She had braced herself to do violence 
to her personal predilection. But Desire showed 


Time Flies 


213 

no symptom of entertaining any similar predi- 
lection to be combated. 

“She is colder blooded than the Hamiltons of 
our day,” Lady Pelley decided. “Now that she 
is at home, I suppose she has grown ashamed of 
her Indian lover.” Which, by the way, was the 
precise result she had set herself the task of 
bringing about. 

As matters now stood, she, out of sheer Irish 
pugnacity, became Kenelm’s eulogist. 

She spoke of evening hours in the canoe. De- 
sire flushed. 

“She has memory, it seems, after all,” Lady 
Pelley thought, cruelly, and continued. A moment 
later Desire’s eyes swam in tears. Lady Pelley 
was conscience-stricken. 

“Oh, I know it — all — all — ” Desire stam- 
mered; in her voice an appeal. 

“Bless me — Desire!” Lady Pelley cried out, 
much troubled. “I shouldn’t have let my tongue 
run on like that. We will talk of something else.” 

“ Did they — speak — of — me ? ” 

“Did who speak of you?” 

Desire was silent. It took her utmost power 
of will to control the tremor of her features. 
Tears stood thick on her lashes. 

“My dear child — is it about Kenelm? I 
should not have spoken so freely of the lad. 
He’s a brave lad, and well-plucked. No woman 
need be ashamed of having loved him.” 


214 


Kenelm^s Desire 


‘‘I am not ashamed!’’ Desire protested. 
shall never love anyone else. But I treated him 
badly, and now it can never be any different.” 

^‘No,” Lady Pelley acquiesced resolutely, ‘^it 
must never be any different. You can see that 
it is impossible?” 

‘‘I do not, but mama does,” Desire responded 
hopelessly. ‘‘Oh, Lady Pelley! You don’t know 
how strong and good he is! And I am so proud 
of him. I always knew he had it in him. But the 
more he accomplishes, the more set mama grows 
against him. It is his Indian blood. Do you 
think — would you — ” she faltered, then dashed 
into desperate pleading. “Oh, dear Lady! You 
know him — you like him — won’t you speak to 
her? She would know you could have no inter- 
est in misrepresenting him. It can’t seem much 
of a misalliance to you. I have no social posi- 
tion to maintain — I stand for myself and for 
what I can do. And misalliances are not always 
unhappy. My grandmother never felt a regret for 
the step she took. She died when father was a 
child, and grandfather lived to be an old man 
but he never loved again. After her death he 
took no interest in living. Will you? Will you?” 
She grasped Lady Pelley’ s hands, leaning for- 
ward in earnest entreaty. 

“Dear lass, I cannot,” Lady Pelley replied, 
deeply moved. “You will get over it in time. I 
did, and so has many another woman — and 


Time Flies 


been happy enough for her own good. It is not 
for all of us to be too happy. I could not let 
my own granddaughter make such a match.’’ 

‘‘But I am different. I am half plebeian — 
all plebeian; those distinctions mean so little to 
us, here in the West. What position I have is 
due to my art, and that cannot be affected. Dear 
Lady Pelley — be my friend. You know he is 
good and would make any woman he loved 
happy. If you do not help me there is no one 
who can.” 

“No!” Lady Pelley straightened up with fresh 
decision. “It is not the right thing, and I can- 
not countenance it. He is a good lad. I have 
no fear he would treat you cruelly — ” 

Desire dropped her relative’s hands. In sud- 
den, tender effusion, she slipped both arms 
around Lady Pelley’ s neck, nestled her blooming 
cheek against her Ladyship’s still wilful gray 
ripples of hair and whispered, amid tears and 
kisses of softest appeal, “He was the sweetest 
lover — ” 

They sat many seconds, close-locked in a silent 
embrace. 

“No wonder he is daft about you!” Lady 
Pelley said briskly at last, openly wiping away 
the tears in her forget-me-not blue eyes, holding 
the pink-faced girl still close against her kind 
old heart. 

“See what an old fool you’ve made of me, that 


2i6 


Kenelm’s Desire 


ought to know better! Yes — I’ll speak for you 
— if you still say the word. Perhaps it’s wrong. 
Perhaps if I — but Sir Archibald was a good 
man, once you knew his little ways, and has been 
at rest these forty years — and there’s no saying 
what sort of a poor man’s wife I should have made 
if I’d been plucky enough. But with you it is dif- 
ferent, as you say. You have no station to worrit 
yourself about, and Kenelm’s a man will sure be 
heard from yet. You are certain about yourself ? ” 

‘‘I have not changed in over a year, only to 
grow surer.” Desire smiled through hopeful tears 
as she arose to admit her mother. 

After that the days passed drearily. Mother 
and daughter avoided the subject upon which 
Lady Pelley and Frau Eda had spent, in the 
privacy of two, an hour of heated discussion 
and bitter remonstrance. 

The dear Scottish lady’s eyes had snapped 
belligerently at her departure, and Desire had 
read their message of defeat. 

The days passed drearily. 

‘‘You are badly in need of a change/’ Dr. 
Meredith reiterated whenever he saw her, which 
was often. “Drop work for a while. You are 
wearing yourself out.” 

Desire clung to Dr. Meredith in these days. 
He did not know her trouble, which was restful, 
but he knew her through and through; to be 
with him was relaxation. 


Time Flies 


217 


He expected nothing of her in the way of 
entertainment; what was better, he seemed to 
feel no necessity for amusing her when she was, 
as so often happened, distrait. Also, he could 
listen well, and Desire dared pour the whole of 
her trouble into his ears through the interpreta- 
tion of her art. 

He would listen a whole evening, quiescent, to 
these rhapsodies, puzzling over the problem they 
shadowed forth and studying the pathetic trans- 
formation in her features. 

^‘You are wearing yourself out,’’ he remon- 
strated afresh one Sunday night when he could 
endure no longer without active interference. 

Impetuously he plucked her right hand from 
the keyboard to hold it up between themselves 
and the lamplight. She examined its rosy fragil- 
ity with some astonishment and curiosity. 

^‘But I am not ill,” she asserted, “only thin. 
Some people are always thin.” 

“Do you eat well?” 

“Oh, yes.” 

“And sleep well?” 

She hesitated. “Not always.” 

“Is it music that keeps you awake?” 

“Not always. Sometimes a theme takes hold 
of me and won’t let go; but not very often. 
Sometimes I lie awake without that excuse.” 

“How many hours of sleep do you average?” 

“I never counted,” saucily. 


2i8 


Kenelm’s Desire 


“How many do you lie awake, then? Perhaps 
you have had leisure to count them,” satirically. 

Desire laughed. “I give in. I don’t often get 
to sleep before midnight and I get up at seven. 
But, really, I do lie awake a great deal more 
than that. Sometimes it is two or three o’clock 
before I get fairly asleep,” with a sudden out- 
reaching for the S)nnpathy always so grateful to 
the sleepless. 

“A maximum of seven hours! That can’t go 
on. Art workers need nearer nine.” 

“Are you going to give me something to make 
me sleep?” 

“I am going to give you an auto ride in the 
park, first. No drugs. But change, yes, you 
must have that. I shall see to it that you do.” 

Her heart leaped. If she might once more go 
North! She knew she should not dare suggest it. 

“It is so tiresome to go away. And I shan’t 
find any decent pianos and there will be no 
people I care about and nothing to do — ” 

There was a breezy pleasantness about Dr. 
Meredith’s assumption of authority which soothed 
while it amused Desire. She smiled once or 
twice vaguely to herself, after her self-constituted 
medical adviser had left. Frau Eda caught one 
of the flitting smiles and sent it joyously back. 

Handsome, blue-eyed, brown-bearded Dr. 
Meredith was the one man, in her estimation, 
good enough for her Desire. , 


Time Flies 


219 


“What should we do without Dr. Meredith?” 

“I don’t like to think of it,” Desire responded 
heartily. 

A look of content grew on Frau Eda’s features. 
“I have never known a young man in whom I 
have felt the same confidence and whom I have 
liked as well.” 

Desire understood the significance of the words 
and stirred uneasily among her cushions. 

“You do like him, don’t you. Desire?” 

“Oh yes, mama, well enough,” she replied, 
with scarcely repressed impatience. The childish 
German love-names rarely fell from her lips, 
nowadays. She seemed to have forgotten them, 
along with many another pretty frivolity of her 
girlhood. 

Frau Eda held back a sigh. 

“Now let us think where we should like to 
go,” she resumed brightly. “I want a change, 
too. I haven’t had one since we came back 
from Germany.” 

“I can’t imagine,” Desire replied listlessly. “I 
think home is the best place.” 

Her heart was filled with longing for the placid 
waters and the still nights of the North. She 
closed her languid eyes and let herself drift back, 
a rare self-indulgence, into those silent, shadowy 
ways of happiness. 

Her mother thought she slept, and sat with the 
leaf of her book half turned. 


220 


Kenelm’s Desire 


But Desire did not sleep; she was dreaming, 
happily. 

With magic suddenness, duskily glowing eyes 
gazed through hers into the hidden depths of 
her heart — her lips thrilled to the ecstasy of a 
quick caress. 

She sprang up with dilated pupils, pale and 
trembling, panting from the conflict between joy 
and disillusion. 

‘‘What is it, dearie — what? My Hearths 
Desire!’^ 

Frau Eda caught the quivering girl and kissed 
her into quiet. “Were you asleep — and fright- 
ened? Tell me.’’ 

“I don’t think I was asleep. I can’t tell you.” 
She turned coldly away. 

“There must be nothing you cannot tell me, 
dearest. Do not let us grow apart, Desirechen 
— tell me what distresses you.” 

She drew her daughter down on the couch be- 
side her, against some reluctance on the part of 
Desire. “Tell me, Liebling.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Is it — the old trouble?” 

“Yes.” 

“Can’t you conquer it?” 

“It grows worse,” drearily. “I don’t know 
how. I don’t know how. I don’t know what to 
do.” 

“Have you tried?” 


Time Flies 


221 


have worked.’’ 

‘^And it grows no better?” 

“It grows worse. I could stand it for a few 
months, well enough. But for years — ” 

There were no tears. Frau Eda sat silent, 
studying her daughter’s delicate fingers. Desire 
gazed stolidly into the fire. She felt no relenting 
in the firm fibre of her mother’s gentle support. 

“He is very busy; a successful man of affairs. 
Do you believe he has not begun to be resigned? 
You are thin, but,” cruelly, “Lady Pelley says 
Kenelm is in excellent condition. There are 
other things in life — for men — my Desire.” 

Desire shrank slightly but attempted no direct 
response. 

“If you felt that he had accepted your 
decision — ” 

“Your decision, mother!” 

“Our decision, sweet, as final, would that help 
you ? ” 

“I don’t see how it could. I am afraid I don’t 
think so much about his happiness as I do about 
my own.” 

Frau Eda hesitated. The deep tenderness she 
had read to-night in Dr. Meredith’s handsome 
face strengthened her idea of her duty. 

“I do not pretend that it is not hard. Life is 
hard for all; none the easier for those who imag- 
ine they have found the sure love-road to happi- 
ness. You are in a bad nervous state, and all 


222 


Kenelm’s Desire 


this seems worse, on that account. You have, 
worked too hard and slept too little. Dr. Mere- 
dith was right. We must find some good out-of- 
door place and be just jolly for a little while. I 
am growing morbid, too. Don^t think any more 
about it to-night, dear love. To-morrow we will 
take it all up afresh and try to make up our 
minds where we can have the happiest times 
possible. Kiss me goodnight.’’ 

Desire kissed her mother with a tenderness 
which was remorseful because of its inability to 
be more tender; and left the loving, troubled 
woman to think steadily far into the night before 
she should seek her own not too certain repose. 


CHAPTER XX 


GONZALES 

W HEN Desire, conscious of a stimulating 
influence, glanced over her shoulder — 
there stood Gonzales. 

She recognized him instantly. Before Dr. 
Meredith, in the background, had opportunity to 
get out the form of introduction, she had already 
extended her hand in greeting to the newcomer. 

The day was springlike and the doors all open. 
Dr. Meredith, led by the music, had brought 
Gonzales directly to the music-room, at the door 
of which the Indian sculptor had paused, hand 
stealthily upraised, to listen and to feast his 
artist soul by looking. 

It was one of Desirees great days. 

‘‘Now for The Potlach,'^^ Dr. Meredith cried. 
“Gonzales heard it in the park, yesterday, so I 
had to bring him over. Also, I came to say 
that we are going out to the Cliff to-morrow, 
you and I.” 

She smiled what might seem a superfluous 
consent. 


223 


224 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Gonzales was in his silent mood and looked 
the Mexican peon his detractors insisted he was 
and ever must remain. He had gone back to 
Paris almost immediately after Desire’s home- 
coming from Wake Siah, and had not been in San 
Francisco again until now. He had — but the 
story of Gonzales may be written some day. This 
is the story of Kenelm and of his Heart’s Desire. 

Inspired by the smouldering excitement of the 
taciturn Indian, Desire flung herself into the bar- 
baric tone-medley with the full violence of the 
scene in which it had originated. She finished 
and turned, trembling with ardor, to her guest. 
His narrow, sombre eyes glowed, for once. She 
read in them a demand for more. 

Doctor Meredith, gratified, slipped unobserved 
away and Desire played number after number of 
the now completed suite to her silent and momen- 
tarily savage auditor. Not the Sheewin Song. 
She played that only when alone. 

In the midst of the swish oi The War Canoes 
she caught a rustle and a sharply drawn inspira- 
tion in the direction of the still open doorway. 
Frau Eda stood within; pale, harsh, her eyes 
fixed in immovable aversion upon Gonzales. 

He saw, heard and in some sort comprehended. 
He arose with the ease of a Frenchman; the 
manner which was more hopelessly unrealizable 
to the people who heard of Gonzales than had 
been the fact of his genius. 


Gonzales 


225 


One easily comprehends that genius may de- 
scend upon a savage; the very barbarity of 
genius favors it. No man may say upon whose 
head the fire of Heaven is destined to strike 
down ; but the fashion of gentility — that comes 
from man, not God. One does not imagine that 
in the descendant of generations of low-type 
slaves, which the Mexican Indians have virtually 
been since the time of the brutalities of Cortez. 

Desire hastened to present the artist. In the 
rebound of a great relief, Frau Eda welcomed 
him with effusive cordiality. He responded with 
the frankness and reserve of a man of the society 
world. But the artist was no longer there; and 
the man, too, did not linger in taking his leave. 

^‘What a strange, impossible sort of man!’’ 
Frau Eda commented with a shudder. ^‘Did 
you know he was like that?” 

‘‘No, but he is tremendously stimulating,” the 
music still humming through her veins. 

“Oh, my Desire!” Frau Eda cried, placing 
her hands on Desire’s shoulders and gazing terri- 
fied into her daughter’s eyes. “Such men are 
not for us. No one can feel the wonder and even 
the fascination of these creatures more than I. 
But they come to us from another world. We 
cannot know their thoughts. They are with us 
but not of us.” 

“You judge too quickly,” Desire retorted in 
defence. “Kenelm is not like that — not in the 


226 


Kenelm’s Desire 


very least. He is like us. He is not tragic, but 
human — ordinary — he might almost have been 
my brother.’^ 

‘‘Almost!’’ 

“As nearly as I could imagine any man — yes; 
as nearly as Dr. Meredith. Kenelm and I have 
more traits in common than have the doctor and 
I. You don’t consider his bringing up; always 
amongst whites, with a white man’s education in 
every respect. He has no personal conception of 
any life other than that of a British subject. But 
Gonzales — why, he was almost a man grown 
before he had ever worn a shoe or known a sin- 
gle letter of the alphabet. The power of genius 
has lifted him to our level; for that matter, 
above our level. How can we expect to under- 
stand him? He is so much higher and so much 
lower than our comprehension. I have to keep 
it out of my mind when I talk with him or I 
should be too frightened to speak. I could never 
dare to love a man like that. Kenelm is dijffer- 
ent,” her zeal sinking into tenderness. “Kenelm 
is just an ordinary, pleasant, intelligent, ambi- 
tious — human y 
“But he is an Indian!” 

Desire laughed, to keep back her tears. 

“If Gonzales represents your idea of Kenelm,” 
she said, “I understand why you feel as you do. 

I suppose I should have imagined something like 
that if I had never seen him. It makes me hope- 


Gonzales 


227 


ful. I begin to believe that if you could see and 
understand Kenelm as well as you understand 
Gonzales, the distinction would be as clear to 
you as to me. Mama! What happiness!” 

‘‘Not happiness for me.” Then her heart 
smote her. “Your happiness is the one object 
of my life. Trust me a while longer.” 

The shock of seeing Gonzales had brought 
Frau Eda to the verge of hysteria. Not knowing 
that the artist, of whom she had heard much, 
was in town, or, for that matter, in the country, 
her first thought on seeing him seated, a rapt 
listener to the Northern music, had been that he 
was Kenelm; whose advent, unthought of by 
either of the lovers, had been to the mother an 
ever-threatening contingency. 

He embodied her worst apprehensions. Com- 
paring him with photographs of Kenelm, she saw 
the strong type-resemblance to his Northern race- 
brother. He was handsomer, more alert, with a 
stronger suggestion of fierceness and cunning. 
Or was that expression the momentary result of 
the martial music of his people — or perhaps a 
reflection of the dislike she was aware her own 
countenance must have betrayed in the first 
moment of her consternation? 

No, it was Indian. Just pure Indian! This 
was the characteristic for which she must look 
fearfully into the features of the children of her 
old age; the sons and daughters of this exquisite 


228 


Kenelm's Desire 


woman she had reared. The horror of that 
thought was unalterable. In the balance with it^ 
Desire’s present unhappiness bore little weight. 
It was insignificant compared with the lifelong 
humiliation the girl must undergo, Frau Eda 
sincerely believed, as the wife of an Indian, the 
mother of his half-blood progeny. 

Lydia and Elbridge came in for an afternoon 
call. 

^‘Desire’s still at it,” Lydia remarked, settling 
herself comfortably and poising her hat — which 
she had removed after repeated asseverations that 
she could not stay a minute — on the fingers of 
one hand, while with the delicate tips of the other 
five digits she caressed the flower petals into posi- 
tion and airily puffed away a suspicion of dust. 

Frau Eda watched with growing dislike. Few 
knew of Lydia’s ancestry, none who had not 
been definitely informed, and yet a certain un- 
pleasant differentiation from all the women of 
her acquaintance was universally conceded. Her 
coarseness was set down to her provincial birth 
and rearing; Frau Eda was in the mood to read 
into it another meaning. 

She traced the resemblance in shape, expres- 
sion and use between Lydia’s apparently shallow 
light brown eyes and the indescribable barbarity 
of the darker eyes of Gonzales. 

‘‘They are all Indians together,” she thought 
bitterly. 


Gonzales 


229 


Lydia disposed of her hat to her satisfaction, 
then, as Desire entered the room, drew a letter 
from her chatelaine bag. 

She handed Desire an unmounted photograph, 
apparently a snap-shot. Desire gave a cry of 
pleasure. There was the dear white canoe; 
there the placid water, the bending trees; best 
of all, there were Kenelm and Althea laughing 
up into her face an invitation to join them and 
be happy. 

“Good, isn’t it?” Lydia asked, watching De- 
sire furtively. “It was Allie’s birthday and Ken 
gave her a water party up Wake Siah river. You 
remember the place, don’t you?” 

“Where we went so long ago, out by Bogg’s 
farm?” 

“That’s the very place; the identical spot 
where you gave us the fright shooting the rapids. 
Oh, I tell you, Frau Eda, Desire and Kenelm 
were a caution, those days. I expected them to 
be brought in dead any time. You don’t know 
what a harum-scarum this girl is when she gets 
out in the wilds. Ken thought she was just all 
right. Now, Althea’s timid. He never could get 
her to go out in the canoe, unless to paddle close 
inshore, and that’s no fun for him. He’s that 
daring.” 

“How nice Althea looks.” 

“Mel says she’s doing better this year; got 
more color and is jollier, like. I guess she’s 


230 


Kenelm’s Desire 


having a better time. Now Kennie’s more set- 
tled in his business, so to speak, he has time 
to enjoy himself occasionally.’’ 

^‘They are cousins?” Frau Eda asked. 

‘^Well, yes, sort of cousins. He’s her second 
cousin. Not too close to make a pretty nice beau 
— hey?” she laughed significantly. Desire gazed 
at her, astounded. ‘^Oh, you needn’t look like 
that,” Lydia resumed, teasingly. haven’t let 
any cat out of the bag. There isn’t any cat in 
that bag, that I know of.” 

How is Gran’ma Peden?” Desire murmured. 

‘‘Jolly as a sandboy, what with Jessie’s wed- 
ding to come off and Allie’s two beaux. I tell 
you that girl’s got the pick of them in Wake Siah. 
Take Ken and Angus out of the running, and 
there ain’t much left for the rest of the girls. 
They know it, too. Angus, you know, is an old 
admirer of mine,” she reminded Desire, rather 
boisterously. “But he’s dead gone on Althea 
now, they tell me. I guess that’s what has 
started Kennie up again. He always was jealous 
of Angus, even when he was paying attention to 
me. That’s one reason Kennie and I didn’t get 
on very well, of late years. He’s that jealous you 
can’t reason with him, do your best. Oh, when 
he’s jealous, he’s a fright!” 

“How is Morgan? I haven’t seen him for a 
long while. When are you and he coming over 
to spend the evening?” 


Gonzales 


231 


‘‘Land knows! I don’t. What with his club 
and his oil-wells and his law cases and my going 
out so much, I don’t see him myself more than 
two evenings out of the week. And then I’m 
generally too used up to get much good out of 
him, or he pokes his nose into the paper, and he 
might as well be in the next county as far as I 
am concerned.” 

Frau Eda had long realized the gradual separa- 
tion of interest and enjoyment between husband 
and wife. 

“ By the way,” Lydia said, with the air of sudden 
remembrance, “I wonder if you know anything 
about an Indian I saw waiting around the Park 
street corner for the return local? He was an 
Indian, all right, but dressed to kill. Seemed used 
to it, too. Have you heard of anybody like that?” 

“That was Mr. Gonzales, an Indian sculptor. 
He was calling on Desire.” 

Lydia clicked her spoon against her saucer in 
surprise. 

“You don’t mean it! What’ll Dr. Meredith 
say to that?” 

Desire did not remonstrate. She knew the 
inutility of resenting Lydia’s impertinences. Be- 
sides, she did not feel sensitive about Dr. Mer- 
edith. They had grown accustomed to the 
comment their intimacy aroused. 

“Dr. Meredith brought him over and left him 
here,” she replied equably. 


232 


Kenelm’s Desire 


^^Well, that beats me! If Dr. Meredith knew 
how much this man looks like Ken, maybe he 
wouldn’t be so free.” 

don’t think he looks like Kenelm, not in 
the very least,” Desire responded sharply, ‘‘ex- 
cept in color.” 

“Oh, he’s darker than Ken, for that matter. 
But he makes me think of him, just the same. I 
suppose it’s because he is educated.” 

“It must be that. There is no real resem- 
blance.” Desire looked deprecatingly at Frau 
Eda, at that moment struggling to insinuate 
wriggling Elbridge into his smart overcoat; for 
Lydia was in the act of departing. 

“I like Indians,” Elbridge proclaimed boldly. 
“When I get to be a man I’m going to be an 
Indian like Ken, ’nless I’ll be a lawyer like papa. 
I guess papa’d rather I’d be like him.” 

“I guess he would. You’ve got all the Indian 
in you now that your father’s capable of manag- 
ing,” Lydia retorted coarsely. 

Lydia felt sullen. She had baited Desire about 
Kenelm and Althea to no effect. 

“He takes such a warm interest in my morals,” 
Lydia reminded herself, on her way to the train, 
“it’s only cousinly for me to look after his con- 
cerns down this way. He may think it’s an easy 
matter to marry into a high-toned white family, 
now I’ve shown him the way. He’ll find it isn’t so 
easy, maybe, for all his education and fine doings.” 


Gonzales 


233 


Something of this feeling had prompted her to 
bring over the photograph and to enlarge upon 
the sanguine letters in which Auntie Mel kept her 
informed of the doings of the family at Wake 
Siah. 

She had long acknowledged to herself the wish 
that Kenelm and Althea should wed. She had 
early discovered Althea’s fancy for her masterful 
cousin, and she knew of no one else the girl could 
expect to marry who was possessed of the quali- 
fications to which, in the estimation of her aunt, 
Althea’s good looks and gentle temper entitled 
her to aspire. McLeod she gave up as hopeless. 

What continually puzzled her and menaced 
Althea’s chances with her cousin was, the true 
state of affairs between Kenelm and Desire. 
She knew they wrote to each other, yet Kenelm’ s 
letters to Desire, many of which she had read, 
but added to her uncertainty. 


CHAPTER XXI 


DR. Meredith’s prescription 

T he next day, on the beach below the Cliff, 
do not believe I shall ever have such 
a happy day again in all my life,” Desire 
said, with a contented sigh, lying full length 
against a dune; her eyes filled with the sunny 
blue of sea and sky. It had been a rare day 
of perfect comradeship. 

Dr. Meredith shifted his eyes to the clear 
horizon line, to-day punctuated by the distant 
Farallones. He watched a whitish shadow grow 
against it for definite seconds. It had concen- 
trated into the still misty whiteness of a sail 
before he spoke. 

‘‘Since this contents you,” he said unevenly, 
“is it not possible for you always to be happy?” 

The tremor in his voice shook her heart with 
sudden fear. For Desire was wiser now than in 
the happy days when. Kenelm had thanked God 
that she had not loved. She grew pale, notwith- 
standing the wind; but Dr. Meredith’s observant 
eyes still studied the distant sail and dared not 
look for such token of emotion. 


234 


Dr. Meredith’s Prescription 235 

^^Have you never understood,” she replied in a 
low tone of resolve, ^^why I cannot expect to be 
happy?” 

The doctor watched the white sail — which he 
now knew was not coming his way — fade off 
into the gathering haze of a capriciously darken- 
ing skyline, as he asked, in carefully modulated 
friendliness of tone, ‘‘Why cannot you, of all 
others, expect to be happy?” 

Desire made it a long story; for she told it to 
the end without interruption and with incidental 
stimulation by brief words of sympathy or ques- 
tion. It was her first real confidence; her talks 
with Frau Eda had been of the nature of special 
pleading. 

She had not known, before, the relief of talking 
her heart out to a listener who could not blame. 

If he suffered or she were unintentionally cruel, 
perhaps it was best, that he might not deceive 
himself with hope, as Frau Eda had done; nor 
later be angry at any apparent concealment. 

He watched her face with attention, though 
not openly, as she talked; to discover how much 
of this unsolicited confidence might have come 
from the desire to convey a warning of the hope- 
lessness of his cause. 

But Desire, after that first quick resolution to 
save him pain at any cost to herself, which had 
nerved her to the confession, selfishly abandoned 
herself to the relief of the full revelation; and by 


236 


Kenelm’s Desire 


so doing accomplished the object which with a 
more consistent generosity she might have failed 
to achieve: he decided that she did not know 
how near she had come to an unhappiness in- 
volving them both; by the time her recital had 
drawn well along to its close he was able to tell 
himself that there was no reason for her ever to 
suspect his baseless and now relinquished hopes. 

“ Poor little girl ! ” he thought tenderly. “I can’t 
make her happy in my way, and I am afraid I 
can’t make her happy in her way; but whatever 
I can do to smooth out her troubles, I will.” 

‘‘You believe you cannot get over it?” he asked. 

“Get over it!” she repeated after him with 
some bitterness. “That is what mama suggests. 
Since it is hopeless, I am quite willing to get over 
it if some one will show me the way — no 1 I am 
not!” Her eyes filled with tenderness. “I wish 
never to forget. I have very little happiness 
nowadays, but if I should forget, I should have 
none. I would not do away with that summer 
for anything the world could offer. I have been 
wretched, but I have been happy, too. I would 
live it all over again — the bitter with the sweet. 
They have been worth all they cost, if I am never 
to be happy any more. There! Do you think 
me dreadful?” 

“I think you divine!” he said in his heart. 
To her he replied, “I am glad to know a woman 
can love like that.” 


Dr. Meredith’s Prescription 237 

Her eyes looked Thank you.” 

‘Hs there any way in which I can help you?” 
he queried, later on. Would it do for me to 
speak to Frau Eda?” 

think not,” slowly, ^‘although your word 
would go farther with her than that of anyone 
else. But at present she is very much embit- 
tered. Lady Pelley, I am convinced, did more 
harm than good.” Her heart rose at the recol- 
lection. ‘‘Dear old Lady Pelley! You should 
have heard her preach worldly wisdom, then give 
in to my coaxing. She was Kenelm’s avowed 
champion, when she left. But perhaps,” with a 
hopeless little sigh, “she would not have given in 
if I had been her daughter.” 

“Whenever you think it is time for me to do 
anything,” he said, with a return of his charac- 
teristic cheerfulness, “let me know. I’ll do any- 
thing you say, even if you send me to British 
Columbia to bring Fraser down to plead his own 
cause.” 

Desire looked up at him gratefully. 

“He would never come, and it would do no 
good if he did,” she explained. “The only pos- 
sible way, and that is impossible, is for mama 
and me to go there; so she could learn to know 
him right. He would never come unless I could 
write that I would keep my promise. He is so 
proud. He has said that I must tell him; that 
he will never ask me again until I do.” 


238 


Kenelm’s Desire 


‘^Confound his impudence!’’ the doctor per- 
mitted himself to remark. 

Desire laughed, choking back a sob. 

^^He is right,” she said in quick defence. “I 
treated him badly. But he loves me, and he will 
never change.” 

‘‘He can’t!” thought the doctor, adoringly. 

That night Frau Eda woke to the sound of 
sobbing in the darkness. She went to her 
daughter in consternation. 

“Mama,” Desire said slowly, with the child- 
like simplicity she never altogether lost, “I have 
made up my mind. I do not care to live any 
longer.” 

“Hush, dear! That is blasphemy.” 

“I don’t see how, when I am only tired of this 
world.” 

“We won’t talk any more of it to-night. To- 
morrow you will feel different, when you have 
rested.” 

Desire was not to be stopped. She had kept 
quiet so long that the burden of repression had 
become unbearable. 

“Let us stop ignoring it, mama,” she persisted. 
“We don’t keep it out of our thoughts that way, 
and it makes me feel like a criminal. There is 
nothing wrong, except my having to give up all 
happiness for the sake of what people will say. 
And I don’t care what they say. I consent only 
on your account.” 


Dr. Meredith’s Prescription 


239 


^‘And I insist only on yours.” 

“That is what you think,” wearily. “But it 
is killing me.” 

“If you had nothing else in life it would be 
different; but you have so much. Your happi- 
ness does not depend only on love.” 

“Yes it does. The piano helps me to bear its 
loss; it does not take its place. But I am worn 
out with trying, and I am going to give up.” 

“What do you mean?” in a voice of terrified 
misgiving. 

“Oh, I shall do nothing to change matters; I 
have promised you I would not. Only, I am 
going to stop trying to be brave. I’ve been 
brave for nearly two years, and had all the wear 
and tear of it, and no result. I am going to just 
drift along and be as unhappy as I possibly can.” 

Frau Eda barely kept a smile out of her voice, 
in spite of her heartache. 

“How unstrung you are,” she said soothingly. 
“Rest against my shoulder.” 

Unresistingly Desire permitted her head to be 
nestled upon her mother’s shoulder. 

“So you mustn’t expect,” Desire went on with 
childlike stubbornness, “me to do any more. I 
haven’t the heart to teach or practise or com- 
pose or to play in public. I have definitely given 
it all up.” 

“What do you want me to do, sweet?” 

Desire did not answer 


240 


Kenelm’s Desire 


‘‘Shall I write to this young man and ask him 
to come down, and say that you cannot live with- 
out him?” Yes, Frau Eda could be cruel. “I 
suppose he would come, unless his business or 
politics or pleasuring should interfere.” 

“Now you are ungenerous. You know he 
would come!” 

“Then why has he not come before? Other 
lovers have met with unwilling parents. The 
man is supposed to overcome the obstacle of the 
parents’ objections.” 

Desire sat up, flushed and indignant. 

“Because he has acted as a man of honor, you 
try to make him appear a — a traitor!” 

“No, but he seems to have been rather easily 
discouraged. He does not appear to be grieving 
in your absence.” 

“He is not weak — as I am,” Desire admitted. 
“I do not wish that he should be. But he is 
faithful. You cannot make me the least bit un- 
happy, talking like that. It only makes me 
impatient with your — wilful stupidity!” 

Then, because they had never come so near to 
a quarrel before. Desire put her arms around her 
mother’s neck and kissed her. 

“Forgive me, mama,” she said, contritely, 
“but you know you are stupid — to talk like 
that!” 

The mother smiled and patted her daughter’s 
cheek. Its thinness troubled her. 


Dr. Meredith’s Prescription 241 

^^But you haven’t told me what you wish me 
to do.” 

Desire trembled. “You would not!” 

“Would not what?” 

But Desire paled and sank into silence. 

She still slept when Dr. Meredith arrived, the 
next morning. 

“I have come to talk about Desire,” he an- 
nounced, composedly. “Desire and I have be- 
come, as you know, very . . . good . . . friends.” 
The words came with deliberateness. Frau Eda 
put up her hand in warning. He smiled. 

“No, it is not that. But because she knows 
that my friendship is as nearly unselfish as any 
man’s feeling for Desire could possibly be, she 
has let me know the gist of her trouble.” 

Frau Eda, much perturbed, shut the door of 
the parlor, in which by this time the doctor was 
seated, established herself directly in front of her 
caller and waited in silence for him to proceed. 

“Go to Wake Siah. It has always benefited 
Desire’s health heretofore, so your excuse is a valid 
one. It need commit you to nothing ; it will give 
you a chance to convince Desire that you are 
swayed by reason, not altogether by prejudice.” 

“First, tell me frankly why you came here to 
plead Kenelm Fraser’s cause?” 

He hesitated a short moment, then looked her 
boldly in the eyes. 


242 Kenelm’s Desire 

‘^Because I love Desire.” 

‘‘And bid me take her North?” 

“I love her too well to see her wrecking her 
life against an old, barbarous, worn-out conven- 
tion. If she loses this Fraser, she is no more 
capable of replacing him than you are of marry- 
ing again. Forgive me. I know of no other 
means of bringing the true condition home to 
you.” 

“But that is not all,” Frau Eda interposed, 
nerved to the candor of desperation. “You, as a 
physician, should understand what I mean when 
I say that I endure the unhappiness of the pres- 
ent to prevent misery to her in the future.” 

Dr. Meredith gazed at her, but half compre- 
hending. 

“It is the question of her children,” Frau Eda 
resumed breathlessly. “You know, as everybody 
who has any knowledge of the Indian knows, the 
mental and moral anomalies of the half-blood. 
People who have lived a lifetime among Indians 
agree that the half-blood inherits only the worst 
characteristics of the parents. There may be 
good Indians, but not good half-bloods.” 

“I cannot quote personal experience in refuta- 
tion of that dogma,” the doctor replied slowly, 
“but let us take the ordinary half-blood. Who 
is its father? A rough, partly educated or wholly 
illiterate white man of the lowest class, who con- 
siders his marriage a degradation, consequently 


Dr. Meredith’s Prescription 243 

retrogrades as a result of it below even his former 
level. He usually drinks; they both drink. The 
child grows up amidst squalid surroundings, 
where truth, religion and the most ordinary regu- 
lations of cleanliness and decency are openly 
ignored or derided. As a result, he is what we 
choose to call a degenerate. He lacks honor, 
honesty, religion, cleanliness and mental ability. 
I know the type well — I see it every day — in 
the gutters of the city.” 

Frau Eda did not comprehend. 

^^Oh, they are white, all white, these half- 
bloods that I see, and they differ from the Indian 
in being, the majority of them, criminals from 
their infancy.” 

Frau Eda sat silent for a while. see what 
you mean,” she replied at last. “It is not alto- 
gether the mixture of race-blood that condemns 
them; the quality of the white blood as well as 
the quantity of the colored blood is to blame for 
their moral and mental inferiority.” 

“I do not assert this to be so. I merely ask 
you to think it over. Suppose the half-blood 
goes to school among white children. He is 
never received into fellowship. The doctrine of 
his degradation is educated into him. The 
arrogant Anglo Saxon child domineers over and 
insults him until he is glad to escape from the 
barbarity of civilization to the tolerant savagery 
of the rancheria.” 


244 


Kenelm’s Desire 


^^But I don’t see how this applies to Kenelm 
Fraser.” 

“It does not. That is the point. In the first 
place, the Alaskan tribes are of a higher mental 
development. In the second, many decent men 
in those old Hudson Bay Company days married 
the little brown women, who, by the civic cus- 
toms of their race, were the social equals of the 
men. They worked, of course, as do all Indian 
women; the men must save their strength for the 
hunt and for the battle. But property, social im- 
portance, all that represents the European idea of 
nobility, came directly through the women. As 
a consequence, the mental development of the 
women was no whit behind that of the men. 
When they married and lived among white people 
they assimilated the degree of culture of their 
husbands. Desire tells me that both these In- 
dian women, aunts of Mr. Fraser, read and speak 
English quite as well as many of their British 
neighbors, in the same station. Fraser was 
brought up by women of this grade, in the house- 
hold of a man of strong mentality, integrity and 
public importance. His character compares favor- 
ably with that of his white companions. His 
wife will not experience social degradation, for in 
his community his position is one of conceded 
importance. There are no evil traits apparent in 
either Kenelm or Desire. Both are the best 
possible expression of the finest traditions of their 


Dr. Meredith^s Prescription ^ 4 $ 

different nationalities. Why should you fear for 
their children, reared in the atmosphere of such a 
home as they are capable of creating?” 

‘‘It sounds convincing,” Frau Eda granted 
with a sigh. “Would you feel that way about 
a sister?” 

“Not on the representation of another person, 
certainly. But I should look into the matter for 
myself, if I found her happiness depended on it. 
Not until I was convinced by personal investiga- 
tion of the conditions that they were inimical to 
her true welfare, would I dare wreck the happi- 
ness of her future; as this course of action is 
sure to do.” 

This explains how it happened that when 
Desire seated herself languidly at midday break- 
fast, some time after the doctor^ s departure, she 
found beside her plate a gay red, white and blue 
folder of the Pacific Coast Steamship Company, 
which Dr. Meredith, ever to be depended on for 
details, had left for Frau Eda’s perusal. 

The blood rushed all over Desire’s sensitive 
face. She gazed at her mother in mute ques- 
tioning. 

Frau Eda was incapable of doing anything by 
halves. 

“I leave it to you. Desire,” she said. “If you 
wish to go, on your own terms, to give me an 
opportunity to judge, without committing our- 
selves in any way, I am willing; on your promise 


246 


Kenelm^s Desire 


that you will say nothing that will lead to the 
resumption of your engagement. That must 
come from him, and you will abide by my de- 
cision. 

“Of course I won’t speak first,” Desire cried, 
radiant. “He will do that, and I won’t accept 
him without your consent. Oh, I am sure you 
wfil like him!” 

“I like Gonzales, but I would rather see you 
— unhappy all your life than married to him.” 

“Kenelm is different,” Desire retorted with 
gay confidence. “You’ll see!” 

“ But I must see, too, what your future life and 
surroundings are likely to be, before I give my 
consent. And my going in no way commits me 
to a consent. We are supposed to be on our 
way to New York, by the Canadian Pacific 
route. You promise not to count too much on 
it?” 

“Oh, I won’t count on anything. I’ll just — 
live!” 


CHAPTER XXII 


DRIFTING 

I ^ALK about your coons havin’ trouble,” 
I Althea remarked, in a tone of good- 
natured resignation to fate, ‘^well — we 
just had it!” 

The group, including Frau Eda and Desire, 
assembled as of yore on the Peden veranda, had 
watched her in unnoted silence as she came up 
the arbored pathway from the gate. 

Perhaps, notwithstanding evident fatigue, Al- 
thea had never looked prettier than at that exact 
moment; the broken sunlight fluttering caresses 
upon the roundness of her beautifully tall figure, 
and erratic leaf-shadows dancing fantastic faran- 
doles upon the shimmering whiteness of her care- 
lessly tilted parasol, itself a riot of delicate silk 
and laces. With the exception of the parasol she 
was dressed incongruously for July, rainy weather 
being the excuse, in a small-figured, soft-textured 
black silk and a big black picture hat of nodding 
plumes worn well back from her pretty face, 
no longer startling from its pallor, but whose 
physical improvement conveyed no suggestion of 
joyousness. 


247 


248 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Such was the native elegance of the girl, that, 
dressed as she was, Frau Eda, watching her, 
believed she could have passed muster at the 
afternoon reception or matinee of a large city — 
until she should have been heard to speak. 

Her slim hand, white-gloved, protectingly held 
up the skirt of her rich gown. She had auda- 
ciously yet daintily picked it up by the hem of 
the train, holding the bit of hem almost at the 
waistline in front. This disclosed delicious sug- 
gestions of fluttering rose-silk ruffles complicated 
by ethereal glimpses of translucent white lace and 
tucks. 

The worry lines in Auntie MePs kind face 
deepened as she contemplated her daughter’s 
approach. 

^‘Allie looks worn out,” she said to Frau Eda, 
who sat beside her. wish I knew what to do 
about it.” 

^‘What happened?” Jess asked of Althea. 

Jess had not accompanied Althea on the 
Fourth of July excursion on the Pleasure to 
Seattle. Three weeks ago Jessie had been 
married to her faithful Maddox; married in the 
small church of the Holy Incarnation, quite on 
the other side of the town from St. Mary’s and 
the Reverend Mr. Milner; although Mr. and 
Mrs. Milner showed their determined attitude of 
forgiveness by attending the pretty ceremony and 
felicitating the more than pretty bride. 


Drifting 


249 


The small church had been a complete bower 
of the fragrant wild white syringa; a stipulation 
of Maddox’s, whose heart had been captured two 
years ago in the white shadow of its waxen 
bloom. 

Since that last day of virgin whiteness Jess had 
blossomed into a sweet matronliness of deport- 
ment which astounded the family of the effer- 
vescent, pleasure-loving girl, and which had even 
thus soon brought many a kind word of recogni- 
tion from hitherto unapproachable social regions. 

Althea dropped in an easy posture of wearied 
grace into the big rocking-chair vacated for her 
by her mother. Her breath came quickly; the 
rise and fall of her rounded bosom was percepti- 
ble beneath the white lace which composed the 
front of her bodice. 

“Oh, it was just horrid, from the word go!” 
she replied, in a tone of patient good-humor. 
“The boat was jammed, and almost everybody 
was seasick, and most of them didn’t have berths, 
so they had to sit up on deck both nights, and it 
rained every blessed minute we were in Seattle.” 

“What did you do? Where did you stay all 
the time?” 

“Oh, I soon got enough of it, you bet! I shook 
the gang and went back to the boat. Got a 
jolly crowd of boys together who hadn’t lost no 
old water-soaked parade, and had all the fun I 
wanted; don’t you fool yourself about that.” 


Kenelm’s Desire 


250 

‘^Did Angus go back with you?’’ 

“I guess yes! And last night — just before 
the boat started for home — I was sitting by the 
rail talking with Angus and shouting ‘so long’s’ 
to the gang on the wharf — when I up and 
fainted.” 

“You!” “Allie!” “Great Heavens!” “You 
were never known to faint!” “That used to be 
Kennie’s trick!” “What was the matter?” 

“Oh, I guess most any of you would have gone 
under, in my place. I was sitting there, talking 
to Angus, and leaning over the water. I had 
noticed something whitish down between the 
boat and the wharf, and all of a sudden it gave 
a little ripple and a gush — and up came a dead 
woman.” 

“You poor girl!” “Suicide?” 

“That’s what they said. Her lover had de- 
serted her. She was mighty pretty, or that’s the 
way she looked to me. There wasn’t any ring on 
her wedding finger. I didn’t faint at first. I 
was the only one who saw her, and I just stared. 
She came clear up.” Althea shuddered. The 
lightness went out of her tone. “She didn’t 
have no wedding ring on. Her hair was down, 
and I tell you she was pretty. She had a sorta’ 
smile on her face, and her eyes were wide open, 
staring at me. I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t 
dare. Seemed like it wouldn’t be decent. So I 
gave a little screech and fainted.” 


Drifting 


251 

‘^You poor child! No wonder I thought you 
looked fagged out when you came up the walk. 
Jess, go make her a good strong cup of tea. 
Don’t you think you’d better get your things off 
and go to bed in the spare room for a while?” 

Althea disregarded these suggestions. ^‘I’m all 
right now,” she replied, ‘^but I can’t help won- 
dering who she was.” 

‘‘Some poor girl who was too pretty for her 
own good,” Auntie Mel commented sententiously. 
“Perhaps her mother was dead or had treated 
her mean, poor child!” 

“I hope her mother is dead,” Althea said. 
“That’s no way to treat a mother, good or 
bad.” 

Auntie Mel patted Althea on the shoulder as 
she went in to hurry Jess up with the tea. “I 
guess no mother could be mean to you, Allie,” 
she said clumsily. “Good girls make good 
mothers.” 

The Frasers were exactly what Desire had 
known them before. Her mother’s evident respect 
for and appreciation of the family acted as a balm 
upon her irritated consciousness regarding the 
Henekers. Frau Eda gave no expression to her 
opinion of the social deficiencies of the widow 
and her daughters, and showed a genuine liking 
for Jess; many of whose earlier angles had been 
rounded by time and happiness into gracious and 
lovable curves. 


252 Kenelm’s Desire 

Auntie Fraser was and ever remained a wee 
bit afraid of Desire’s mother; who, to tell the 
truth, could never be long in the small brown 
woman’s presence without an acute consciousness 
of the Indian characteristics so strongly typified 
by her features. 

With Kenelm her manner was perfect. In his 
bearing and conversation she had nothing to 
overlook; in his character much to admire. 
They had been on the easiest terms from the 
first. Frau Eda was more at ease than Desire, 
who began to feel, helplessly, that she did not 
understand either of them. 

At home Frau Eda played her part as consist- 
ently as abroad. No reference came from her to 
Desire as to the object of their visit North. Nor 
did she appear to have the slightest curiosity 
regarding the state of affairs between the two 
she had so long held apart. 

She took an active and unfeigned interest in 
the political portents, of which there were 
many. 

The last parliamentary election, in which 
Fighting Bob had been returned to represent 
the Liberals of Wake Siah, had not come to 
pass as early as the Liberal party, then in op- 
position, had expected and had labored to bring 
about. 

The then- existing government had opened up a 
long correspondence with the Governor- General, 


Drifting 


253 


concerning the possibility of international com- 
plications and Imperial interests which might be 
threatened by Colonial action. 

Wake Siah denounced these dilatory measures 
and expounded the injustice of sacrificing local 
welfare to the perhaps shadowy bugbear of Im- 
perial embarrassment. 

It took months to bring it about; but when the 
Conservative Labor constituencies, of which there 
were several, finally became convinced that the 
government was playing with their interests, what 
Americans call a landslide’’ took place; a vote 
of lack of confidence was passed, and the disas- 
trous appeal to the country followed, with due 
form and gravity. 

But even after the elections, incontestable as 
was the small Liberal majority returned — with 
Fighting Bob in parliament — for that matter, 
in the cabinet — the millennium did not arrive. 

In the new government, with Melton as Prime 
Minister, Fighting Bob was a disturbing element. 
More than a year had passed since his vaunt to 
Kenelm; but the Man from Assiniboia was not 
yet Premier of British Columbia; the probabili- 
ties of his holding that high office were fast 
fading away. 

He had gone in, tremendously popular with his 
colleagues as well as with the public. His per- 
sonal relations with the Lieutenant-Governor 
were matter of public gossip, soon of apprehen- 


254 


Kenelm’s Desire 


sion. Much as he appealed to the imagination of 
the mutable voters, they were not yet ready to 
place themselves wholly in his hands. This was 
impressed on the Lieutenant-Governor just in 
time to prevent what practically the whole Lib- 
eral party felt would have been the fiasco of 
appointing the newcomer Premier. 

Kenelm had moved first in the matter, feeling 
himself politically responsible for the introduction 
of the stranger. He explained the thing con- 
vincingly to Lanahan himself; who, pressed to 
the point, admitted the absurdity of such a 
course, and consented to be satisfied with the 
portfolio of Attorney- General under Melton as 
Premier. 

The split between the law partners, invisible to 
outsiders until its culmination, began just there 
and then. Kenelm knew, and so did Lanahan; 
but they played at ignorance for the sake of party 
harmony. 

The Lieutenant-Governor seemed to be an 
ally of more importance than the Indian barris- 
ter, and this high personage appeared to be 
literally possessed by Lanahan. As a result, the 
Melton government was from the first obstructed 
by Lanahan. The Liberals dared not break 
with Fighting Bob on account of his influence 
with the man who held the dissolving power; 
naturally they groaned in secret under the screw 
and lost the party spirit which is vitally essential. 


Drifting 


255 


This was the state of affairs during the sum- 
mer of Frau Eda’s visit: the Conservatives were 
beginning to do that most unsafe thing — to 
laugh at their successors; new mines were open- 
ing up; the rush to Nome was at its height; 
miners were growing scarce ; the coal market was 
stronger than ever before; here and there China- 
men were emerging from their conceded position 
as firemen to enter the contested place of the 
regular coal miner. And the Liberals were grow- 
ing tired of Lanahan. 

‘‘He’ll have to do something soon, or get out 
of the way of the others and let them do it,” 
Kenelm confided to Frau Eda, when she one day 
drew his attention to a significant anti-Lanahan 
paragraph in the leading Liberal paper, “or the 
Liberals might as well step down again. I be- 
lieve he is lying back, getting ready for a coup of 
some sort,” he added thoughtfully. “He is in 
earnest about doing things, but he wants to do 
them himself. He doesn’t want Melton to have 
the credit, so he is obstructing. It is a big risk. 
He has the Lieutenant-Governor, but I’m afraid 
he stands to lose the people. There is no use 
talking to him. Not one of the party that put 
him in has his confidence. But — there’s going 
to be great moonlight to-night. We can go up 
to Discovery Bay and back, easily, before ten.” 

“I can’t possibly,” Frau Eda replied for her- 
self. “You two may go, but don’t stay too 


Kenelm’s Desire 


256 

long. The nights are really very damp. I shall 
see you when you get back.’’ 

With Desire and her mother established at the 
select boarding-house near the rectory, facing the 
boulevard skirting the bay, Kenelm had felt the 
necessity of observing more conventional hours in 
returning from their few pleasure excursions, than 
in the old, delicious days of social irresponsibility. 

Heretofore he had insisted that Frau Eda 
should accompany them, and Frau Eda had 
martyred herself with becoming equanimity. But 
she decided that Kenelm had sacrificed enough to 
the proprieties and that the situation could never 
be cleared up if she gave the two no opportunities 
for private companionship. 

Exactly what she wished in the way of a solu- 
tion would be difficult to define. Kenelm had 
surprised and delighted her. He was merely a 
man among men, she found; not mysterious, 
like Gonzales; no more a prodigy than a mon- 
strosity, in public estimation. The few “best 
families” sent him cards for all formal functions, 
and might have taken him into their social com- 
binations quite completely if he had shown any 
desire. He was an enthusiast at “hard” whist 
and stood among the best billiard players, which 
redounded to his popularity among men rather 
than among women. 

As to Kenelm’ s estimate of Frau Eda; in the 
love-legends of his ancestors, the mother had the 


Drifting 


257 


prerogative of passing upon the gifts brought by 
the suitors of her daughter to the door of her 
lodge. He recognized the small apparent value 
of his offering, but it was his all. If it were not 
enough for Frau Eda^s acceptance, he should 
attempt no word of persuasion. He would wait. 
There was where he held the power. In this, 
civilization had befriended him. The mother 
could not dispose of her daughter elsewhere. In 
the end. Desire’s preference must prevail. He 
could wait. It was not necessary to beg. 

But how could Desire be expected to read all 
this beneath the placid friendliness of his ex- 
terior? She was sadly perplexed, poor child, at 
the undemonstrativeness of his reception of her 
return and the commonplaceness of their subse- 
quent association. 

When Desire felt embarrassed, it was always 
her impulse to talk. To-night she chatted glibly 
of the things she had left; of Dr. Meredith, 
Gonzales — 

have heard of him,” Kenelm interrupted. 
“What is he like?” 

“He is wonderful! He is a genius!” Desire 
cried warmly. “I know of no one whom I ad- 
mire so much.” Which she should not have said. 

“If I were a genius,” Kenelm told himself, “it 
might be easy. But I am nothing. A back- 
woods barrister. A thing any white man could 
be. If I were a genius, people would think me 


Kenelm’s Desire 


258 

all the more wonderful for being dark. But I — 
I am only presumptuous!’’ 

Stoicism is not easy — in the living presence of 
desire. 

‘‘Mama is one of his greatest admirers,” she 
continued, driving the knife deeper in her timid 
effort to reassure. “I have never felt that I 
quite knew him.” 

“Genius is the great leveller,” he responded 
abruptly.- “I can see why she should like him. 
Perhaps you were not with him enough to make 
him feel at ease.” 

“No,” thoughtfully, “I was not. I played for 
him, but he seemed to find more to say to mama. 
He came with Dr. Meredith.” 

Kenelm had not at any time mentioned Dr. 
Meredith. He knew what the man was like, 
physically, from a group kodak Desire had sent 
him some weeks before. Although Desire ap- 
peared in the picture, hers had not been the 
figure he had studied most. Now he had a 
clear-cut vision of Mrs. Llewellyn and Gon- 
zales; Desire and Dr. Meredith; Desire and Dr. 
Meredith. 

He looked dreamily off at the placid waters 
which stretched on every side. 

“This is very quiet,” he remarked. Had she 
hurt him? It was impossible to decide. 

“It is the most beautiful place in the world,” 
she hastened to say. “People who live here do 


Drifting 


259 

not seem to appreciate it. I love it better than 
any other place.” 

His face brightened. ‘^And you have seen a 
great many.” 

“I have seen the best of this country and of 
Europe. This is the most beautiful to me.” 

‘‘And to me.” 

The ensuing long silence grew unendurable 
to Desire. She had not Kenelm’s fine gift of 
calm. Her gift was that of expression. He 
had that, also, according to his necessities. But 
he possessed as well the tremendous power of 
repose. 

“How well Allie looks this year.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“She is not so frail-looking as she used to be, 
and she has more color. I think I have never 
seen her so pretty.” 

“Perhaps she has improved,” he admitted, 
considering. “She seems to have enjoyed her- 
self a good ' deal this last year. She has been 
more awake, like.” He hesitated and would 
have retrieved the last word; but too late. De- 
sire laughed out in her old girlish tone. 

“That^s the first time you’ve said it since I 
came back. I begin to feel at home.” 

“Then I’m glad I said it,” his cheeks suggest- 
ing vanished dimples. “I was afraid the place 
would never seem the same to you. It is small 
compared with what you are accustomed to.” 


26 o 


Kenelm’s Desire 


“But I was accustomed to that before I ever 
saw Wake Siah. I had lived three years in 
the heart of Europe before I came the second 
time. I knew just how small and remote it is, 
always.’’ 

“But I did not,” Kenelm responded quietly. 

It almost seemed that he might be trying to 
explain why he had found it not out of reason 
to love her. She wondered — was beginning to 
feel unhappy. It could not be possible that he 
had decided to give her up, now that there was a 
prospect of their being united? She was glad 
that her face was away from him. 

“Are you dissatisfied?” she asked in an even 
voice. 

“No, I cannot say that I am. I have always 
felt that I belong to Wake Siah and it to me. I 
grew up here. I understand the province and 
its needs. I suppose the desire to go away would 
show a greater ambition. Perhaps, too, I could 
eventually make a place for myself outside; I 
had no reason to feel daunted by my experiences 
when I was away. But we need good men out 
here. We shall not always be the edge of the 
earth. But progress will be slow if the men best 
qualified to stay at home all take their abilities 
elsewhere. The world east of the mountains 
does not need any one, particularly. There are 
plenty there. British Columbia needs every stout 
heart and steady brain she can get. I plan to 


Drifting 


261 


stay, always. The world will come to us some 
day; I am not afraid.” 

She turned to look at him, approval in her 
glance. 

‘‘It is the soil you serve — not the throne!” 
she cried impulsively. “You have not changed 
since the days when you loved to feel the earth 
flat against your cheek.” 

“What a memory you have! I love the feel- 
ing of it yet. No,” slowly, “I have not changed.” 

Her heart almost suffocated her. But he did 
not speak again. 

On their homeward way a row-boat came up 
with them and passed; they were drifting, with 
a return of their old reluctance to getting in. In 
the boat sat Althea. Angus plied the oars. 

Angus raised his hat. Althea called a negli- 
gent “Hello!” 

They had forgotten her when, a minute later, 
her voice came faintly back to them. 

“What is she saying?” Desire asked, turning 
her head (she had given over paddling) to find 
that Althea was also looking back. The moon- 
light was bright on her white face. They could 
see that she smiled ; but veiling that smile — 
could it have been the chill pallor of the moon? 
— there trembled a mist of grief. 

“I think she said ‘Good-bye,’” Kenelm replied 
absently, “but she spoke it rather low.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


CHIEFTAIN OF HER CLAN 

A untie eraser brought the news to 
Frau Eda the next afternoon, shortly be- 
fore tea-time. Desire was out of the way. 
Her mother had insisted on her accepting an in- 
vitation from the Ladies’ Hockey Club; which to 
feminine Wake Siah represented all swelldom. 

Frau Eda had just begun to notice the fact that 
nearly a whole day had passed without her hav- 
ing seen or heard from either of the two families. 
She had hardly gone so far as to consider it odd 
when Auntie Fraser tapped at her door. 

One glance at the tear-swollen eyes and un- 
kempt braids apprised Mrs. Llewellyn of trouble. 
‘Hs it Desire?” she asked, turning white. 
Auntie Fraser shook her head, bursting at the 
same time into tears, moans and disconnected 
words. Frau Eda had one apprehensive instant 
in which she questioned whether she were not in 
the presence of a woman suddenly gone dis- 
traught. Then she caught Althea’s name. 

“Is she ill?” she asked. 


262 


Chieftain of Her Clan 263 

‘‘Oh, I don’t know and Mel don’t know. She 
has gone away.” 

‘ ‘ Who ? Mrs. Heneker ? ’ ’ 

“No. Althea has gone away.” 

Frau Eda let Auntie Fraser weep on undis- 
turbed while she strove to take in the signifi- 
cance of the news. 

“I saw her out in a boat, last evening,” she 
remarked. “Are you sure she has not merely 
spent the night with some friends and forgotten 
to come home?” 

“Allie has no friend,” Auntie Fraser replied 
simply, “and she left a note.” 

“What did it say?” 

“Mel told me to bring it to you. She doesn’t 
dare to tell my sister, Mrs. Peden.” Even in the 
abandonment of her grief she retained the slight 
formality which had always marked her inter- 
course with Frau Eda. “And she wants you to 
tell us what to do. She sent for me to tell my 
sister, but,” with a wild outburst of sobs, “I 
could not. She has always said only good things 
to me. I cannot tell her such dreadful news.” 

The note was terse, to pathos. 

“Dear Mother,” Althea had written in the re- 
fined, legible hand which had been one of her 
delicate vanities, “this is to say goodbye. I am 
going away because I will not stay and be a 
shame to you. Don’t be afraid. I shan’t do 
like that poor girl did. I wouldn’t treat you that 


264 


Kenelm’s Desire 


bad. It wouldn’t hide anything, and would be 
more shame. Give my love to grandma. 

“Your affectionate daughter, 

“ALTHEA. 

“P. S. Don’t anybody try to find me. You 
can’t. And then I might do it.” 

There were no tear-stains, but the postscript 
was tremulous. 

“Did she go alone?” 

“We don’t know. Angus is gone, too, but he 
took the train to Victoria all alone, this morning. 
It is his vacation. He will take the night boat 
to San Francisco. Kennie has telegraphed him. 
There is no other train to-day. Kennie has tele- 
graphed the police to watch Angus and see if he 
goes near her. He spoke about going down on 
his wheel to cut him off. It is eighty miles. 
But he doesn’t think Althea is there. He has a 
good man on the watch who will see every pas- 
senger. If Althea is on, he will go to Vancouver 
to-morrow morning and take the train South. 
He can get there, perhaps, before the boat does.” 

Frau Eda mused silently. She was not hard- 
hearted, but she could not keep back the thought, 
“And these are the people with whom Desire has 
involved herself!” 

She was not hard-hearted, as later events 
proved ; but she had pride in Desire — she was 
Desire’s mother. 

“There is no way for her to go so far,” she 


Chieftain of Her Clan 265 

said aloud, practically. ''She did not go on the 
morning train, that you have found out, cer- 
tainly?'^ 

"Yes, she did not go that way." 

"Nor on the Vancouver boat?" 

"No, Kennie found that out." 

"Did she take her wheel?" 

"No." 

"Could she have got a horse and carriage?" 

"No. Kennie has found out about every 
stable." 

"Then of course she did not go far away. 
When did she leave?" 

"Nobody knows. She came in last night about 
ten. She said she was dead tired. She told Mel 
not to waken her until noon. She hasn't slept for 
a good many nights, and she said she could sleep 
a week." Frau Eda had to wait for the fresh 
paroxysm of grief to expend itself. "She said 
she didn't want breakfast, and was going to 
pull down her curtain and lock her door, so 
nobody would disturb her by mistake. Mel 
stayed on the other side of the house all morn- 
ing to keep quiet. She didn't try to waken 
her until pretty near one o'clock. Then she 
couldn't wake her. She — she — " the poor 
woman covered her face with both hands, rock- 
ing backward and forward. 

"But why tell Mrs. Peden at all? Althea 
cannot be far away and Kenelm is sure to find 


266 


Kenelm’s Desire 


her. He can persuade her to come back. 
Grandma need never know that she has run 
away.’’ 

‘‘But when she does come back — then, the 
shame to my sister! Somebody must tell her 
that. It will kill her. She was so proud of 
Althea. She is the oldest daughter of my sister’s 
oldest daughter. The crown would go to her 
after her mother. She always thought Allie just 
perfect. I believe she loved her more than all 
the rest. We all know it.” 

“Yes, she must know, some time. But why 
tell her Althea has gone without her mother’s 
knowledge? Let her think she has left home 
with her mother’s consent, to spare them public 
shame.” 

“Will you go and talk to Mel about it?” 

Frau Eda consented, overcoming her selfish re- 
luctance in the matter, but leaving a peremptory 
note for Desire; in which she forbade her visiting 
either the Pedens or the Frasers. 

Kenelm, stern and mute, was with Auntie Mel 
when Frau Eda arrived. He had come to report 
the futility of his search in town and in the im- 
mediate neighborhood. 

When it was necessary for him to speak, Ken- 
elm betrayed neither embarrassment nor emotion. 
He stated in a few words what he had done; 
listened to Frau Eda’s suggestions in regard to 
the course to be pursued with gran’ma, assented 


Chieftain of Her Clan 267 

after some meditation, and persuaded Mrs. Hene- 
ker, who had never before faced the necessity of 
concealment from her mother. 

‘‘It would be of no use for Mel, if she has to 
break the news, to try to keep from Aunt Peden 
that Althea is lost,’’ he told Frau Eda. “She 
isn’t equal to it. If Aunt Peden knew that, she 
could not be convinced but that Althea must be 
wandering alone out in the mountains. But she 
must know, sooner or later, that Althea is in 
trouble. If she thinks her safe somewhere, she 
may feel more anger than alarm. And anger 
isn’t so apt to be fatal as grief. We must remem- 
ber that Aunt Peden is growing old. And there 
is Captain Peden. He dotes on Althea. And 
since his rheumatism, his heart has not been 
strong. I think, Mel,” turning pointedly to her, 
“you have your hands full taking care of your 
father and mother. I can look after Althea.” 

Frau Eda appreciated the fineness of this 
maneuver. Auntie Mel roused herself from her 
wordless apathy, made a flurried attempt to 
smooth from her relaxed features their droop of 
despair, and went for her bonnet. 

“Mel can never tell it straight in the world, 
first off,” Kenelm said, appealing to Frau Eda. 
“She never could keep anything from anybody, 
least of all from her mother. Will you help us? 
I would do it myself, but I might kill her with 
a word. And mother is worse than Mel.” 


268 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Frau Eda went through one last struggle with 
herself. 

‘‘1 will tell her,” she promised, laconically. 

Thank you. Then will you go on ahead? 
Mel and I will follow in fifteen minutes. Aunt 
Peden will feel the necessity of controlling herself 
before a comparative stranger. She has pride.” 

Frau Eda assented. 

It was heart-breaking, her walk up the arbored 
pathway to the veranda, where sat, just as usual, 
the rosy pilot and his faithful, dark-skinned wife. 

Her silver bracelets tinkled with the gesture of 
pleasure which accompanied her rising to greet 
her guest. 

‘‘Captain Peden and me, we wonder why no- 
body have come to-day,” gran’ma said graciously. 
“Everybody must be very busy to forget the oP 
folks. Oh, well, we must all be oV folks some 
day — eh?” 

“The old lady mustn’t think she can be a 
girl forever,” Captain Peden said, offering his 
hand, which trembled a good deal this last year. 
“Her gadding days are about over.” 

“No, it is just you!” gran’ma protested with 
a trace of gentle coquetry. “You cannot go, so 
I must stay, always by the side of you. He will 
not have nobody else,” turning with a good- 
natured pout, reminiscent of Althea, to her 
visitor. 

“Well, lass, I never wanted nobody else while 


Chieftain of Her Clan 


269 


I was well,” he replied heartily. ^‘Why should 
I want other company when I am sick? You 
see, ma’am,” to Frau Eda in his turn, ‘‘she has 
been kinda fretting like to go over to Mel’s to- 
day. Allie didn’t come over, nor Mel, and she’s 
that foolish she’s begun to worrit over Allie. 
Allie’ s all right, old lady.” 

“Oh, these men!” with impatience. “They 
have no heart! They do not care. But I know 
Allie is not well. I feel that she is not well.” 

“I mind me the only time the old lady and 
I ever had a word,” Captain Peden remarked, 
reminiscently. “It was .about the little thing. 
She was a rare, fine young one, and she looked 
like an angel with her yaller hair and her big 
blue eyes.” 

“They Captain Peden’s eyes,” gran’ma took 
up the strain. “Foolish Peden! He think there 
never was a child like Allie, because she got the 
blue eyes, just like his own.” 

“But that day she was naughty,” the pilot 
continued, his eyes shining with amused remem- 
brance. “I don’t just know what. I was darn- 
ing my socks. Mayhap she ran away with the 
yarn.” 

“And,” gran’ma broke in breathlessly, laugh- 
ing an accompaniment throughout the entire re- 
lation, “I heard — oh, such a screaming! Such a 
noise and a screaming from the little Althea. I 
run to see. There I see Captain Peden crying 


270 


Kenelm’s Desire 


because he was so mad, and whipping Allie with 
his empty sock. Allie she run around the room 
and laugh and scream — gran’pa was going to 
kill her; and Captain Peden, he run, and every 
now he whip her with the empty sock in his 
hand. Foolish, foolish Peden! He would not 
hurt one hair of that nittly girPs head. Not just 
one nittly yellow hair.^’ 

‘^Althea is not well,’’ Frau Eda said tenderly. 

‘‘My God! Is she sick?” gran’ma screamed, 
rising to rush down the steps toward the gate. 
Frau Eda detained her. 

“She is not really sick,” gently, “but she is not 
quite well. Mrs. Heneker was afraid you might 
wonder why she had not been over, so she asked 
me to tell you, and to say she would be here in a 
few minutes. Will you come into the house?” 

But gran’ma would not leave the old pilot’s 
side, to which she had fled when Frau Eda pre- 
vented her going down the steps. “No, tell us 
together,” she commanded. “I must be by Him 
if it is trouble.” 

Frau Eda was perplexed. 

“Tell us the bad news, madam,” Captain 
Peden insisted, moving stiffly to place his right 
arm around his trembling wife. “We’ve met 
a-many a storm together, the wife and I.' We’ve 
sailed side by side in fair and naughty weather. 
If an ill wind’s a-blow, ’tis no time for us to get 
out of hail of each other.” 


Chieftain of Her Clan 


271 


Frau Eda was still at a loss for words. 

^'We^re a- waitin' patient, madam, but it’s 
mighty hard.” Gran’ma was silent, her eyes 
hidden in her husband’s flowing beard, her fragile 
form shaking piteously. 

‘‘It is not so bad as you fear. Althea has gone 
away for a little while. When she comes back — ” 

“When does she come back?” 

“When — when — a man who should have 
married her has made her his wife. Then she 
can come back without shame.” 

Captain Peden evidently did not altogether get 
her meaning. But gran’ma responded immedi- 
ately. She arose to her feet in haughty anger. 

“You speak to me of shame about my grand- 
daughter ! What does it matter to me — me, a 
Chief! — about white people’s shame? There is 
no shame for my granddaughter. If a man have 
done her wrong, it is his, the shame. How could 
she know how bad the men? She did not know 
of being bad. Bring her to me. Her Chief will 
care! Her Chief is not ashamed!” 

In this proud mood she descended to meet her 
daughter who had just entered the gate. Cap- 
tain Peden, grasping his staff and weeping wildly, 
tottered after her. Kenelm hastened forward to 
support him. 

“Wait, uncle! Where are you going?” 

“I shall find him! God will give him to me!” 
the pilot mumbled through his sobs, Frau Eda 


272 


Kenelm’s Desire 


turned her eyes, horrified, from his convulsed 
features. Kenelm threw a supporting arm around 
the old man’s shoulders. 

‘‘Be quiet, uncle. I can do that better than 
you. Trust me. I am young and strong. I 
shall go, now, and never leave the trail until I 
have found him. When I find him, he is mine! 
You cannot go. Stay and take care of aunt. 
She cannot go through this alone.” 

The old man wavered ; then, his factitious 
strength already gone, leaned heavily on Ken- 
elm’s shoulder and peered with grief-bleared eyes 
into the younger man’s resolute face. 

“You will bring him back to me, Kenelm?” 

“I will bring him back to her!” 

He began to weep again, tempestuously. “I 
am too old!” he cried, raising his trembling 
hand to the sun. 

Wife and daughter closed around him and with 
Kenelm’ s assistance led him gently back to the 
house. For an hour, even the anxiety regarding 
Althea was in the background while they fought 
to loosen the grief-clutch from the stricken old 
man’s heart. 

When the pulse-beat had resumed its wonted 
swing, and the hastily summoned physician felt 
safe in going, Kenelm slipped out of the house to 
telegraph, first to Lydia that her father was ill 
and her mother wanted her, then to Victoria for 
the latest news of the steamboat passengers. 


Chieftain of Her Clan 


273 


Rumors of Althea’s flight and of the old pilot’s 
attack had already spread through the lower part 
of the town, when Frau Eda at length felt justi- 
fied in going back to her boarding-house; where 
she found Desire white and trembling with 
shame and anxiety. 

saw her last night on the water! Just last 
night I Kenelm thought he heard her say ‘ good- 
bye.’” 

‘‘Has Kenelm been here?” sharply. 

“No. They say he left town on a wheel. I 
think he might have come to tell me.” 

Evidently Frau Eda did not share this opinion. 
She opened her writing-desk and took out the 
Canadian Pacific schedule. 

“Why are you doing that, mama?” 

“My dear, is it not time we were continuing 
our journey?” 

“Mother! There are times when I think you 
are the coldest-hearted woman I ever knew. 
How can we go when they are in trouble!” 

“About Althea! It does not matter for me, 
but it does matter for you. When I remember 
with what purpose we came — oh!’ 

Desire’s cheek burned. “I do not see how 
this should affect me.” 

“Then it is my duty to see for you.” 

“You need not be afraid. I know Kenelm 
well enough to promise that while they are in 
this shadow he will make no claim.” 


274 Kenelm's Desire 

is you I fear. If I agree to remain, will 
you promise that you will not say one word 
which can give him reason to hope that you 
would consent to marry him? He has said that 
he will not again ask you until you have given 
him permission. Will you promise that you will 
say no word to give such permission?’’ 

^‘1 will promise that. But, mama, if he recon- 
siders what he wrote when he was in such dis- 
tress and haste, and asks me to marry him, I 
shall say yes. *I know if you will overcome your 
prejudices, you two can be the best of friends.” 

^Hf I do not — you will live here and I can go 
my way.” 

“I shall never marry him without your consent, 
but if he will take my promise again, and wait, 
it shall be his. Just now there are other things 
to think about.” 

Kenelm, truly, must think of other things. His 
grief-broken aunt and her family were helpless; 
on him devolved the duty of tracing his unhappy 
cousin. He had followed her, mentally, ever 
since he had heard of her flight. All his pre- 
cautions in the matter of the San Francisco boat 
had been perfunctory. He did not for one 
moment believe she had gone that way, or by 
any route to join McLeod. He felt that McLeod 
was fleeing from her and that she had not cour- 
age to face by herself the disgrace she could not 
hope much longer to avoid, 


Chieftain of Her Clan 275 

He took his wheel and left, as though to ex- 
plore the country. A short time, at his tremen- 
dous rate of speed, brought him to Wake Siah 
river; where he borrowed a dugout, exchanged 
his business suit for the nondescript garments of 
an Indian farmer and set out on a night expedi- 
tion. The next morning he was seen, looking 
quite as usual, to take the Pleasure for Van- 
couver. He returned the same afternoon and 
went straight to Captain Peden’s, where he found 
fresh disaster. 

They had sat up by Captain Peden’s bed until 
twelve. Then, the pilot having sunk into a deep, 
natural sleep, Mrs. Heneker undressed her mother 
and put her to bed in the spare room. 

The aged woman (she looked truly aged, for 
the first time) had borne the stress of the after- 
noon and evening with wonderful fortitude . T ears, 
always her refuge, were absent from her eyes. 
Her words had been few and unemotional. She 
had tended her husband. They had wondered. 

^^Poor mother Auntie Mel reported the next 
morning to Frau Eda. didn’t expect to get 
her off so easy, like. But when she saw father 
was really asleep, seemed like she was rather 
glad to go. She didn’t go to sleep right away. 
I looked in several times and her eyes were partly 
open, but she was quiet, so I took the light away. 
I’m just going to look in now and see if she 
isn’t awake and wanting her coffee.’^ 


276 


Kenelm’s Desire 


The spare room opened out of the sitting-room 
in which Frau Eda stood. Auntie Mel tiptoed 
ponderously over the carpeted floor, which, un- 
used to such consideration, creaked enquiringly. 
She opened the bedroom door, peered around its 
edge, threw it wide and called heartily, “There! 
I thought you’d be awake about this time. Just 
lay still. I’ll bring you a cup of coffee in no time.” 

Her mother’s bright brown eyes closed, then 
opened. Auntie Mel bustled cheerfully away. 

Frau Eda could see the bed and its occupant. 
She noticed how smooth the bedclothes lay above 
the slight form. 

“She must have slept soundly,” Frau Eda 
thought. “She can’t have stirred once since 
Auntie Mel tucked her in.” 

It began to seem strange that, once awake, 
gran’ma should lie in the same rigid quietude. 
Frau Eda stepped closer to the doorway. The 
bright eyes moved as though in recognition or in 
greeting. 

“ Good - morning, gran’ma,” Frau Eda said, 
softly. There was no response; no answering 
smile or gleam of old-time courtesy. The brown 
face, immovable, took on, to Frau Eda’s appre- 
hensive gaze, the semblance of a mask. 

Auntie Mel came in with the steaming coffee. 
She peeped over Frau Eda’s shoulder. 

“How does she feel?” she asked briskly. 
“Pretty peckish this morning — eh?” 


Chieftain of Her Clan 277 

Frau Eda drew her back. 

^^Put down the coffee/’ she instructed. Auntie 
Mel obeyed, all her assumed cheerfulness fleeing 
at the horror in Frau Eda’s face. Her own fea- 
tures worked spasmodically. 

Don’t give way,” Frau Eda admonished, “but 
I believe there is something the matter with your 
mother.” 

The two women went in together. At their 
approach gran’ma opened and closed her haunted 
eyes, as though endeavoring to formulate an 
appeal. 

Frau Eda carefully turned back the undis- 
turbed bed covers. A slight movement of the 
left hand reassured them. They spoke cheer- 
ingly, then urgently; but with the exception of 
that slight fluttering of the one hand and the 
strained gaze of her tortured eyes, they could get 
no response. 

“My God! We are under a curse!” Auntie 
Mel cried, giving way to convulsive weeping. 

“Hush! You distress her.” 

The hand fluttered nervously; and the eyes — 
that sadness of the eyes — which tears might 
never more assuage! 


CHAPTER XXIV 


WEDDING GARMENTS 

W HEN Lydia came, four days later, her 
rage knew no bounds. At first her anger 
was directed equally against Angus and 
Althea, but she included Mrs. Heneker and — 
most of all — Kenelm. 

“Why didn’t you take care of your girl?” she 
demanded of Auntie Mel. “You always felt it 
necessary to look after me a long sight more than 
you had any call to do, and you took precious 
good care of yourself. Why didn’t you try your 
hand on your girl? But, oh, no! Althea was 
perfect! It was only Lydia who couldn’t be 
trusted!” 

“Now, Lydia — ” 

“Oh, Ken thought it, if you didn’t. Althea 
wasn’t supposed to be safe with me! Oh, yes! 
This is the way he takes care of her. I hope 
he’s satisfied. Where is Althea?” 

“She’s safe. Kennie knows.” 

“Oh, indeed! I suppose that settles it! It 
isn’t necessary for her mother to know!” 


278 


Wedding Garments 279 

^‘Well, Kennie found her and begged her to 
come home, but she wouldn’t. She threatened 
to kill herself if he brought anyone to see her. 
She says she won’t see anybody till she can come 
back honest — poor child! She won’t even come 
back to see gran’ma before she dies. She says 
if the news acted so bad, the sight of her would 
kill mother. She won’t come home unless she 
can come honest. Kennie says she’s that dis- 
tracted she’s like a crazy girl.” 

‘‘When can McLeod get back? Are you sure 
he’ll come?” 

“Kennie says he will. He’s afraid not to. He 
knows what it would mean to have Ken on his trail. 
He’s coming back overland. He telegraphed he 
would get in on Tuesday. He said in his tele- 
gram it was useless to force him to come back.” 

Kenelm and Lydia barely spoke in the weary 
days that followed. Frau Eda and Kenelm 
managed the affairs of the house. 

It was “Frau Eda” and “Kenelm,” now, quite 
naturally. The intimacy of misfortune taught 
each the true value and sweetness of the other’s 
character. Desire was exiled, for the greater 
part of the time, to the sorrowful companionship 
of Auntie Fraser. 

On Tuesday Kenelm met McLeod at Van- 
couver. The great Hamilton himself, actuated 
by no personal bias, it is to be hoped, gave 
McLeod the benefit of his counsel. 


28 o 


Kenelm’s Desire 


made no promise of marriage/’ was his 
defense. 

“I don’t give it up,” Kenelm explained to Frau 
Eda, on his return. '‘I know McLeod pretty 
well; better than he knows himself. There’s 
more good in the chap than you give him credit 
for. It’s no use to push him to the wall when 
he is in the fighting mood. But he’s good- 
hearted, with it all. It’s his family he’s afraid 
of. They are egging him on. I must get him 
away from their influence. I’m going to stay by 
him and not roil him up any more than I can 
help.” 

“What patience you have!” 

Kenelm’ s face was inscrutable. 

“I suppose patience is the right name for it. 
But if it doesn’t work it may not last. Angus 
has some idea of that, too. If I could get him 
off, alone with me, for a good long tramp up the 
mountain or a paddle along the coast for a whole 
day, I think I might work it. He has good feel- 
ings, or emotions, if you choose, and he isn’t 
happy; that I know. If I could just be by and 
he were sure of my sympathy when the mood 
came, I could do anything with him. Once I 
got his promise, he wouldn’t dare break it.” 

The heart of Angus was not, as Kenelm ex- 
plained, altogether hardened. He had loved 
Althea, in his way, better than he had loved any 
other of the many women with whom he had 


Wedding Garments 


281 


pleased himself by becoming infatuated. Besides, 
the affair had been a long one. An intimacy of 
two years means much to a nature like that of 
McLeod. He had gone away, not daring to 
come to an issue with his family, but with a 
heavy heart. The distractions of travel, upon 
which his father had shrewdly counted, would 
have helped him to break the bond of long com- 
panionship. But back in Wake Siah, where 
every inch of land and water was associated in 
some way with the woman he had wronged and 
whom he really loved with the selfish but alluring 
passion of his kind, the novel sensation of an 
ache in the region of his heart grew stronger with 
every passing day. 

Kenelm, inexorably, became McLeod’s com- 
panion and refuge from himself. He was full of 
sympathy and free from reprobation. Now and 
then he skillfully let drop bits of information 
regarding Althea; recalled incidentally the jolly 
times they three had shared; and, when the 
time was ripe, played upon that pride of descend- 
ants which is a ruling trait of every Scotsman’s 
character. 

He succeeded in this because he understood the 
good in this weak but sweetly sensuous nature. 
His simulated sympathy became real; and his 
power began to be manifest. 

It was a day in the canoe which brought affairs 
to a climax. Kenelm felt the moment approach- 


282 


Kenelm’s Desire 


ing and proposed a half-day’s jaunt to Sabellita, 
to which Angus gladly consented. He had been 
rather let alone since his home-coming and re- 
sponded, for this reason, the more readily to 
Kenelm’s comradeship. 

wonder how she is,” he said, gazing dream- 
ily over in the direction of Vancouver as they 
rounded Black Point. 

Kenelm’s first visit to Vancouver had not gone 
unremarked. Althea was generally conceded to 
be in hiding there. 

should think she is well, from her looks,” 
Kenelm replied, crkftily. have never seen 
her so blooming. But she won’t come home.” 

‘^See here, Ken! You don’t think I would 
have gone off if I hadn’t known that she would 
be well cared for? I’m not that bad. And the 
Old Man promised she should want for nothing. 
He’d have kept his word, too.” 

Kenelm nodded. The ten-mile paddle was a 
silent journey. Their plan was, to go down 
almost to the False Narrows, leave the canoe at 
the beach on Sabellita, walk a mile to the Dono- 
van ranch, get Jimmie and ascend a certain 
difficult stream after trout. But Kenelm and 
Angus had forgotten about trout before the 
Donovan farm was reached. 

^^You know you’re fretting about it all the 
time,” Kenelm said in response to a moody ex- 
clamation from Angus. “If you didn’t love her 


Wedding Garments 


283 


it would be different. Why do you let your 
father spoil your life for you? He did what 
he pleased when he was young. You are old 
enough to choose for yourself. She hasn’t much 
of the blood in her; only a fourth. Look at me. 
People don’t bother me about being an Indian. 
I get as much consideration as you do.” 

‘‘More,” Angus conceded moodily. 

“Perhaps I do. And I not only am Indian, 
but look Indian. Nobody can say Allie does 
that. It wouldn’t be the same thing if Allie were 
a bad girl. I shouldn’t say a word if that were 
the case. You know that.” 

Angus assented. He was letting himself feel 
the peculiar sweetness of Althea’s influence, 
weakly, he knew; but Althea was a long way 
off. 

And then — suddenly — she was there ! She 
stood at the bend of the wood-road, startled, 
leaning forward to assure herself of the tones 
that had come faintly to her ear. 

Whatever Kenelm’s strategy, Althea, Angus 
felt, was innocent of complicity. He held out 
his arms in quick gladness. Kenelm slipped by 
to summon Jimmie, who he knew would be in 
ambush. When the two men returned, Althea 
stood in the posture of denial. 

“No, Angus, I’ve done wrong enough. Not 
until I am your wife.” 

“You don’t hate me, Allie?” 


284 


Kenelm^s Desire 


Her glance, so full of the revelation of love, 
caused the two cousins to turn aside their eyes; 
as though to witness were profanation. 

Unconsciously, mother-love and wife-love had 
grown side by side, these months. Separation 
had forced the later-coming sentiment into a full 
and perfect bloom. 

The best instincts of McLeod’s nature re- 
sponded to the sweet passion of her gaze. There 
was no need of the solemn pledge he gave the 
protecting cousins before the canoers left for the 
few hours of preparation necessary to the wed- 
ding, which was to take place that same evening 
at the Peden home. 

Althea would not consent to start so as to 
arrive before dark, so the canoers went off hap- 
pily by themselves. 

The good news, told at home, sent Jess straight 
to her needle. 

^^Gran’ma was always talking about what a 
pretty bride Allie would make. She shall see 
her like that before she dies. This bridesmaid 
dress was too tight for her when it was made,” 
brushing her sleeve across her moist lashes. “I 
told her she would kill herself.” She finished 
letting out the under-arm seams and attacked 
the upper part of the corsage. know it ain’t 
the thing for a wedding dress to be cut low, but 
there’s no way of letting it out, up there.” 

Frau Eda and Jess, immersed in memories of 


Wedding Garments 


285 


the blessedness of their own nuptial experiences, 
sewed fervent prayers for happiness, with here 
and there a tear, into the ephemeral fabric of 
Althea’s wedding garment; while the doctor 
came and went, with more than usual frequency, 
in his endeavor to detain for a few hours longer 
the spirit even now fluttering on the threshold. 

‘^If she can only live to see Allie married,” was 
Auntie Mel’s monotonous moan. 

Gran’ma had been asking for Allie all day; 
they had learned to interpret her few communi- 
cations quite well. When she wished to see 
someone who was away from the room she would 
watch the door, turning her eyes constantly from 
her nurse to the door and back again. Then the 
watcher would take her unparalyzed hand and call 
over the names of the family. When the right one 
was mentioned they knew by a feeble pressure. 
Every day she had asked for Althea, and every day 
they had explained that Althea had gone to Van- 
couver but would be home soon, and well. This 
had commonly sufliced for several hours, when the 
uneasy quest of the eyes would begin again. 

It was this critical state of affairs which had 
stimulated Kenelm to make on that day what he 
feared to be a premature attempt to bring Althea 
and Angus together. 

The happiness of the tidings he brought was 
almost beyond belief. Gran’ma’s eyes appeared 
to smile and her hand moved with gracious 


286 


Kenelm’s Desire 


gravity. To be sure, she would lapse into un- 
consciousness, and on wakening have to be told 
it all over again; but the news was so felicitous 
that Auntie Mel never wearied of repeating it, 
combined with assurances that now gran’ma 
would get well, because Allie was coming back, 
and they all should be happy once more. 

Almost before they expected, came Althea her- 
self. Despite the shadow of Death hovering over 
the cottage, the meeting was all joy. There were 
no tears — only kisses. 

“Gran’ma will get well, now Allie’ s come 
back,” was the general belief. Indeed, the sight 
of her had acted like a powerful tonic upon the 
almost dying woman. She had turned her head 
the faintest bit; her whole left arm became sud- 
denly free and obedient to her will. It lifted and 
clung around the neck of the beloved wanderer. 

When gran’ma drifted off again, they gently 
loosed her arm and hurried Althea away to dress. 
Frau Eda put on the white gown and draped the 
queenly bare shoulders. She gave a gentle lec- 
ture, there and then, about the tightness of 
Althea’s clothing; but could not insist when 
she saw how unhappy it made the sensitive girl. 

‘‘Never mind!” Frau Eda thought, “I’ll look 
after her when the ceremony is over.” So she 
refrained from saying “I told you so,” when 
Althea, every few minutes, was fain to sit down 
on account of dizziness. 


Wedding Garments 


287 


is a long trip from the ranch/^ Althea 
would explain apologetically, each time she gave 
way. awful tired. But it won’t last long. 

Then I’ll put on a wrapper and be comfortable.” 

Captain Peden, dressed in his best and leaning 
on Lydia, passed into his wife’s chamber just as 
the short bridal procession formed. 

All was joy as Althea swept to her place at her 
grandmother’s bedside. Angus awaited her there. 
He, too, looked happy. He devoured Althea 
with his eyes as she approached. Never, he 
believed, had man been blessed with bride more 
beautiful. And the ineffable happiness of her 
gaze, resting trustfully upon his own! After a 
first, loving look at the bed, she seemed to see 
only him. 

^‘My wife!” he told himself proudly; with 
deeper tenderness, ^^My child!” 

Captain Peden, still leaning on Lydia, gave 
away his grandchild. 

When Angus placed the new ring (the grandest 
wedding ring he could find in town) upon Al- 
thea’s finger, his hands trembled; but her hand 
was calm. It was the first time he had touched 
her since his cowardly desertion. Only a Briton’s 
innate conventionality restrained him from kneel- 
ing to ask her forgiveness. 

Soon they both knelt, and gran’ma’s fluttering 
hand was guided to Althea’s head, where it 
rested in dumb benediction. When the words 


288 


Kenelm’s Desire 


pronouncing the two man and wife were spoken, 
grandma closed her eyes in sudden weariness. 
The strain had nearly proved too great. 

Clear the room!” Auntie Mel cried, anxiously, 
drawing Althea to her side. Angus, fearing the 
death hour might have come, slipped out of the 
chamber without having had a word with his 
wife. In a few minutes Kenelm came to him. 

‘T don^t believe it’s any use your waiting,” he 
said. ‘^Gran’ma is very low and she can’t bear 
Althea out of her sight.” 

‘‘Well, tell her good-night for me, Ken; and — 
and — God bless you!” he blurted out. 

As he went down the path he remembered he 
had not kissed Althea. 

“It was all so sudden,” he thought. “But,” 
smiling in the darkness, “I can make up for that 
before long. And for other things, too. Allie 
shall see what it is to have a good husband — 
if I did treat her mean at the first.” 

When gran’ma next recovered she looked for 
Althea, who knelt again and laid her soft cheek 
upon the aged, restless hand. Gran’ma did not 
seem altogether satisfied. She continued to move 
her eyes to and fro. Auntie Mel took her hand 
and called over the names, but gran’ma did not 
respond. Auntie Mel tried again; then Lydia. 
She thought of Elbridge. There was a faint 
pressure. Elbridge, in his white nightgown, was 
brought in. But the quest was not yet finished. 


Wedding Garments 289 

^^What can it be she wants?’’ Auntie Mel 
asked in despair. 

Gran’ma, with her newly acquired freedom of 
action, lifted her hand, wavered, then moved it 
uncertainly toward her head. 

^^The crown!” Auntie Mel brought it in, 
glittering, barbaric, and regal with its weight of 
costly ermine. She laid it on the pillow beside 
her mother’s head. The hand tapped negation. 
She began searching again among their faces. 
The family passed in procession before her, all 
now understanding that her object was the be- 
stowal of the crown. As Elbridge passed, Althea, 
who knelt and held the hand, pronounced his 
name. 

Elbridge, wonder-eyed, was brought within 
reach of his grandmother’s hand. It lifted, slowly, 
and described a faltering half-circle around the 
boy’s yellow locks. 

^^She put it on him once before. She wants 
him to wear it!” Lydia exclaimed. 

The poised hand dropped, exhausted. Auntie 
Mel, taking it, asked the question and received 
the assent. She, the lineal representative of her 
mother’s authority, raised the cumbrous diadem 
and placed it on Elbridge’ s head. The child’s 
slender neck was almost too weak to support the 
weight, but he held it proudly erect; while his 
aunt, in that action symbolizing the submission 
of the old regime to the new and stronger power 


290 


Kenelm’s Desire 


of the white man, arranged the ermine robe 
of authority in royal folds about his sturdy 
shoulders. 

Grandma’s eyes dwelt long and lovingly on this 
youngest descendant to whom she bequeathed, 
so far as in her lay, the dominion of her ancient 
heritage; so long, that Elly’s small head began 
insensibly to droop beneath its ceremonial bur- 
den; so long, that his mother, going to his assist- 
ance, found, in the moment of removing the 
cumbrous coronet, that the aged Chief and singer 
of the forgotten songs of her People had passed 
from her alien habitation to the unchanging 
House of her inheritance. 


CHAPTER XXV 


ADJOINING CHAMBERS 

M EL! Look to Althea!” 

Mrs. Heneker lifted her hands which, 
in awed and silent submission, she had 
pressed over the soft eyes that, for the first time 
in her life, had given to her gaze no gleam of 
answering tenderness. 

Turning, she saw that Althea had slipped from 
her knees prone upon the floor, where she lay in 
a contorted, moaning heap. She dropped to her 
own knees and lifted Althea in her arms. 

^^What is it, love? Are you in pain? Tell 
mother.” 

The convulsion relaxed. Althea opened her 
blue eyes, laughed childishly in her mother’s face 
and held up her pretty left hand, pressing the 
shining circlet on its fourth finger against her 
mother’s lips. 

‘^The poor girl did not have a ring on her 
finger,” she babbled, ^‘and she smiled at me.” 

Frau Eda, too, knelt for an instant beside 
the frightened mother. They arose and together 
bore the unconscious Althea from the chamber of 
death into the adjoining chamber of life. 


291 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE WATCHERS 

T he morning dew still lingered in the face of 
the hot, imperious sunshine when slow but 
determined footsteps were heard coming 
up the gravel path beneath the still-hanging vine- 
leaves of the arbor. 

Angus McLeod had passed up this pathway 
many times in the twenty-four hours just gone. 
Fruitlessly. 

He saw ahead of him the long, low, familiar 
veranda; the pilot, sitting in his accustomed 
chair, his cap down over his eyes, his unused 
nautical glasses within reach, his chin resting on 
his clasped hands, supported on the heavy knob 
of his staff which stood between his knees; his 
dimmed blue eyes gazing dumbly at the meaning- 
less activity of the harbor. 

Beside him, unspeaking, sat Mrs. Heneker. 
Father and daughter ignored the approach of the 
early visitor. He hesitated on the steps, but had 
not the courage to intrude on their anger and 
their grief. 

Unforbidden he entered the house door and 
292 


The Watchers 


293 


would have gone on to the sitting-room had not 
the bedroom door to the right opened from the 
inside and Jess arrested his footsteps. 

Nor did she speak. Close to her deep bosom 
she held a tiny, restless bundle of softest flannel 
and delicate linen and lace. 

He held out his arms entreatingly, but saw no 
relenting in the sternly handsome face which 
confronted him. 

“Go!’’ she said, as though forcing herself 
to the contamination of addressing him. She 
pointed with her free hand to the gate, then 
re-entered the room. As she turned the key 
against him he heard a muffled wail. 

The stanchest dewdrop had flown skyward 
before the gate again clicked to the touch of a 
stranger hand. 

It was Mrs. Milner who this time passed the 
silent mourners, whose sullen sorrow daunted her 
irreproachable condolences into quietude. 

Jess met her also at the threshold. 

“You’ve come too late, Mrs. Milner,” she said 
with scornful civility, holding the door shut be- 
hind her, the clinging infant still close against her 
breast. “Althea is in no further need of refor- 
mation. She died an honest woman — little 
thanks to you!” 

Going sorrowfully down the path, Mrs. Milner 
met Kenelm, arriving; who raised his hat with 
unbending formality. 


294 


Kenelm’s Desire 


He was admitted to the closely guarded 
chamber. 

Lydia knelt at her mother’s feet. Kenelm 
stood long gazing at the still features of the last 
representative of the unmingled royalty of his 
race. Near at hand were placed the emblems of 
her sway. Wrist, fingers and bosom gleamed 
with the tarnished treasures of her now extinct 
House. 

He crossed to where Althea lay, no longer in 
her coquettish bridal finery^ yet swathed in the 
gossamer white in which during life she had 
delighted to robe herself. Death had erased the 
lines which grief and petulance had drawn upon 
her gentle countenance. 

‘‘Yes! Stand there and look at your work!” 
Lydia’s voice rasped across the room. “Pretty 
enough now, isn’t she? Seeing she wasn’t good 
enough for you while she was alive!” 

He turned his eyes to her, more in consterna- 
tion than in anger; but stood unmoved, his arms 
folded across his chest, his eyes quickly reverting 
to the peaceful features of this best-loved cousin 
of his childhood. 

“Oh yes! You can look innocent. You al- 
ways looked just that way — when anybody 
could see the poor girl was eating her heart out 
for you. But no! She wasn’t pretty enough; 
and she was only a country girl; and she wasn’t 
smart enough to suit you; and she was only an 


The Watchers 


295 

Indian! And so she could go to the dogs, for all 
of you! God! How I hate you!’^ 

Kenelm remained voiceless, inscrutable, until 
Lydia’s head had dropped once more upon her 
folded arms. 

Then, with steady step he left the room. 
These were the last spoken words ever to pass 
between the two. 

The rectors came together, were admitted; 
stood with bared heads, wordless, before the still 
grief of the sister and daughter and the recurring 
wail of the motherless babe. 

Unwearied through the mounting hours, the 
fierce-browed women watched beside their dead. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


KITH AND KIN 

“X TOT quite yet, mama,’’ Desire replied. 
‘‘You have been beautifully kind and 
patient, and you were an angel to them 
in their trouble.” 

“I am not so bad, after all, Desirechen,” Frau 
Eda made answer. “ But even the gentlest of 
dove-mothers will peck in defense of her young. 
I proposed going this time, because I cannot see 
that you are the happier for staying longer. I 
have given up my original position in regard to 
your marrying. You have convinced me that 
you love him sincerely, and he has won my pro- 
found respect, besides a feeling of friendship. 
With all this I continue to believe that you would 
be happier to marry among your own people. 
This very reticence which puzzles you now might 
make you miserable later on. Because you con- 
ceive that you once treated him badly, you, in 
some sudden enthusiasm, are quite capable of 
asking to have your former relationship renewed. 
There I make my stand. I hold you to your 
promise not to speak the first word. Your com- 

296 


Kith and Kin 


297 


ing has shown that you love him. I have treated 
him as an intimate friend. We are openly wait- 
ing until he can make up his mind to ask you 
again to be his wife. He does not do so. The 
situation is not one to be prolonged indefinitely.’’ 

Frau Eda kept her eyes steadily on her hem- 
stitching, that she might not see the painful flush 
on Desire’s cheek. 

‘‘You know, mama, what he said.” 

“That you must speak the first word. Yes. 
And he persists, in the face of all you have done 
to compromise yourself. To you it appears 
heroic, I must suppose, since you do not resent 
it. To an unprejudiced person it looks more 
like stubbornness; that Indian obstinacy which 
it is impossible should not be in his blood. Noth- 
ing can make a wife more thoroughly wretched 
than that very same righteous sullenness. It 
would break my heart; your father had a touch 
of it — but when he saw me suffering or sad it 
could not endure for a moment. I tremble when 
I think of you, impulsive and emotional, sub- 
jected to such a regimen. It would break your 
spirit and ruin your life. It frightens me.” 

“I am sure I understand him better than you, 
mama. I knew it would be hard to overcome 
his reserve. He feels that we came up to inspect 
him; that he is on trial. He thinks that when 
you have decided we should let him know. Then 
came the humiliation of Althea’s trouble, which 


298 


Kenelm’s Desire 


I know he feels keenly, although he does not let 
it appear. He is in a hard position and he is 
very proud; I like him none the less for that. 
He will not invite another rebuff. It is the In- 
dian caution aroused by mistreatment, if you 
will.’’ 

Frau Eda’s attitude, all through the grief and 
excitement of the last month, had been unex- 
ceptional ; more than that, it had been the 
expression of sincere feeling. But Desire under- 
stood how poignant had been to Kenelm the pain 
of a family disgrace at this, of all possible times. 
His sentiment of clanship was strong; shame 
attaching to any member of his family must over- 
shadow himself. This explained the bitterness of 
his old resentment toward Lydia. Desire had 
gradually come to know something of that. But 
Althea had been more to him than Lydia, ever; 
her transgressing had been more patent to the 
world. How could he, sharing the strain of an 
undeniable if unmerited ignominy, urge the suit 
that had been rejected when he was untouched 
by dishonor? 

‘^We are going down to Sabellita, to-morrow,” 
Desire told Frau Eda that evening. “Where 
Althea stayed, you know.” 

“I have often wondered,” Frau Eda mused, 
“just how it would all have ended if Jimmie 
Donovan had not happened to be up from Sabel- 
lita that night when McLeod told Althea he was 


Kith and Kin 


299 

going away; or had not met her after she parted 
from McLeod and before she reached the house. 

shall always like him for that,” Desire cried. 
“If Althea had not threatened to commit suicide 
he would have gone and shot Angus or made him 
marry her.” 

“I have never quite decided which I admired 
more — Kenelm or Jimmie. The two young 
men acted with such shrewdness and propriety 
all through, and such real affection.” 

“Naturally, one would have expected much 
from Kenelm,” Desire agreed, “but who would 
have suspected delicacy from Sabellita Island 
Jimmie!” 

“Kenelm really has an excellent manner,” 
Frau Eda admitted to herself as she watched 
them out of sight the next morning. “Quite as 
dignified as Gonzales at his best. There is some- 
thing that commands respect in the Indian im- 
mobility of feature.” 

She had no doubt that the great question 
would be settled that day. Kenelm had really 
not been well situated to speak, heretofore; but 
he must see that they could not stay in Wake 
Siah much longer. No more could be expected 
of Frau Eda. He had been too precipitate be- 
fore; she certainly did not wish that he should 
be too deliberate now. 

She could see that Desire, in rebound from 
the sadness of late days, went off in a jubilant 


300 


Kenelm^s Desire 


mood. As they turned to go down the street she 
detected Kenelm once more dimpling to control 
a laugh. 

^^Pray God he may be good to her!’’ 

Kenelm revelled in the tropical glow of that 
August morning, but Desire drooped visibly be- 
fore they had rounded Black Point of triumphant 
memory. 

^^What reckless things we did, those days,” 
Kenelm broke the silence to recall. shouldn’t 
think of exposing you like that, now.” After a 
while he said, ‘‘I am not as courageous now as 
I was then; I don’t dare take the chances.” 

Desire tried to think of something to say that 
should be right, yet not betray her promise to 
her mother. Before the word would come, Ken- 
elm resumed. 

“Looking back on it I feel that I must have 
been intoxicated all that summer; drunk with 
happiness and hope. It was a summer of 
dreams. Some of them have come true.” 

Why could she not think of something to say! 
It had seemed, in anticipation, the easiest thing 
in the world to tell Kenelm that she had come 
North to realize the sweetest of all his dreams. 

After minutes of struggle her lips parted to 
give egress to such faltering words as had reluc- 
tantly obeyed her bidding. While they still 
trembled on her lips he spoke again, in a matter- 
of-fact tone. 


Kith and Kin 


301 


^^That was a big fight we put up for Hal- 
board before the B. C. Court on appeal. Ottawa 
seemed nothing, after that. I was struck with 
stage-fright, for the first time. Clear off my 
head. For fully five minutes I ground my 
words out like a machine, without the least 
idea what I was saying. They sounded like 
words that someone else was speaking in a 
foreign tongue. Did you ever feel like that?’’ 

^^Oh, yes,” vaguely, as they gained the brown 
shadow of precipitous Sabellita. Then he had 
not referred to his summer dreams of her! What 
if she had spoken! Her cheeks burned at the 
imagined shame of it. 

After this. Desire was quiet for a long time, 
dreamily watching the gorgeous dado of star-fish 
and sea-anemones which banded the base of the 
continuous cliff in purples, reds and yellows, like 
closely woven tapestry, for a foot above and 
another foot below the water surface. She won- 
dered, mistily, whether he would refer again to 
their happy summer — and whether, when he 
did so, she should speak. He, too, had fallen 
into one of his long silences. 

After they had turned the half-way point, ^^Do 
you hear that distant roar?” Kenelm asked, 
poising his paddle. 

^^Yes.” 

“The rapids at the Narrows. Our passing of 
them has become classic.” 


302 


Kenelm’s Desire 


^‘What has become of Leaping Elk?’’ she 
asked to conceal her embarrassment. 

‘^He is still the champion dancer of the tribes- 
They say he has married Chief John’s youngest 
daughter. She was pretty, in her way. Do you 
know, I was never satisfied until I had trained 
up to a vault equal to his? Old Nanaimo told 
him about it, but the Elk wouldn’t believe it. 
So we met one day, over at the village, to have 
a try-out.” 

^^And you beat?” 

don’t know that I can claim to have beaten 
him, but the honors were pretty even. Since 
then I’ve been Big Medicine.” 

‘‘Since Jimmie and uncle don’t expect us,” 
Kenelm said, on landing, “We will eat our lunch 
on the beach. After that I will take you to visit 
some of the Indians who live here; then we can 
walk down to the ranch.” 

“You know all the Indians?” 

“Yes, some are mother Fraser’s relatives. 
Most are connected with us by marriage.” 

One or two shiftless-looking, weather-beaten 
dugouts were drawn up on the beach. In the 
stern of one was a pool of malodorous water 
containing long-dead cockles and clams. 

“They are a no-account set,” Kenelm pointed 
out. “A roof over their heads when it storms and 
clams enough to keep them from starvation is all 


Kith and Kin 


303 


they ask; if they can get a little whiskey now 
and then and go to a dance every few weeks. 
They seem happy enough in their degradation.’^ 

After luncheon had been spread and eaten on 
the sheltered beach he stowed everything in the 
Peterborough and led the way up a steep, wind- 
ing trail, through a tangle of forest greenery, 
to a small clearing in which was a tumble-down 
shake cabin, black and picturesque, of two 
rooms. That at the rear was little more than 
an enclosed porch, containing a rusty stove and 
one or two dilapidated benches standing against 
a superannuated pine table, too evidently on its 
last legs. 

Between the table and the stove sat a hunch- 
backed squaw, shelling peas. Her head was large, 
its squareness accentuated by straight, grizzly 
wisps of unkempt hair, which hung unevenly 
down for several inches in front of either ear. 
Her face was of unimaginable grotesqueness; so 
misshapen and wrinkled and fantastic as to be 
altogether admirable. The substance of which it 
was composed seemed not ordinary flesh and 
integument; rather, some richly colored, shiny 
variety of wood, carved in obedience to the 
hideous behests of a disordered imagination. 

Withal, it was kindly. The squaw’s small 
brown eyes twinkled delightedly at Kenelm’s 
sudden appearance. 

‘‘How do you do, aunt?” he called cheerily. 


304 


Kenelm’s Desire 


‘‘Miss Llewellyn, this is Mrs. Mudge, an aunt of 
my mother’s.” 

A boy of eight years came running to meet 
Kenelm, who was everywhere adored by children. 

“What a handsome boy!” Desire cried in- 
voluntarily. The boy understood and slipped 
shyly behind Kenelm. 

He was the most beautiful creature Desire had 
ever seen; a half-blood, with straight, delicate 
features, high-born and haughty. His skin was 
dreamily dark, his eyes well-opened and lustrous 
and his fine hair a waving black mass of silken 
texture and shine. 

She had never before seen an Indian who so 
fully conformed to the Anglo-Saxon standard of 
beauty, short of a quarter-blood like Althea. 
She could hardly take her eyes off his handsome 
face; when she did so she found herself even 
more fascinated by the impossible ugliness of his 
grandmother. 

She invited them to stay to dinner; failing 
that, to take a cup of tea; through it all she 
leered affectionately at Desire, in a way which 
made the girl understand that the ancient squaw 
had drawn her own conclusions; already looked 
upon her as a relative. 

Desire may be forgiven for having shuddered 
inwardly. 

“Well, goodbye, aunt,” Kenelm said. 

“You bring — her — more — yes, I know!” 


Kith and Kin 


30s 

The old squaw nodded her head slyly and 
laughed; a horrible, single-toothed laugh. 

He led the way down the sylvan trail to the 
main road. 

“There is another squaw I should like to have 
you see. She is a character in her way. When 
mother was a little child this squaw was consid- 
ered the handsomest girl in all the clan. A 
Hudson Bay man married her, took her to Vic- 
toria, grew rich and treated her like a queen. 
She had servants, carriages, fine clothes and 
everything her heart could wish, and her hus- 
band was faithful to her. She never learned 
English. He always humored her and spoke 
Indian; not the Chinook jargon, but her own 
language, so she did not speak easily with the 
Indians, who all talk the Chinook. Well, re- 
verses came upon him. He speculated wildly to 
retrieve himself, and finally died, loaded with 
debts. She had no relatives and had had no 
children. She was too old to learn to work. 
She wept so incessantly that she went nearly 
blind, and for years lived on the precarious 
charity of the Indians who happened to know 
her. But she never intruded and after a while 
they forgot. Accidentally mother heard that she 
was dying of starvation in Victoria. She had her 
brought here and got the relatives to build her a 
cottage and promise a certain amount of support. 
She thinks mother is a sort of god.’’ 


3o6 Kenelm’s Desire 

“I should think she would/^ Desire exclaimed, 
tears in her eyes. 

They had reached a small clearing in which 
stood a new cottage of unpainted pine. 

“What a neat little house!” 

“Yes. Once roused they did it in good style. 
It is the best house in the group. She lives alone 
with her dog, and the neighbors supply her with 
food. She makes mats for them.” 

By this time they were at her front door. It 
stood open. Looking in, they discovered the 
squaw, blear-eyed, wrinkled in a thousand criss- 
crosses, haggard and unclean beyond description, 
sitting in the middle of the bare floor, surrounded 
by scattered materials for her weaving, and ca- 
ressing a fat, diseased mongrel which she held 
in her lap. 

Desire’s emotion changed instantaneously into 
repugnance. Here was none of the tragedy of 
grief. No one trace of beauty, of devotion, of 
heroic agony or of noble thought remained upon 
the senile countenance of the aged squaw. 

Even Kenelm could effect little, conversation- 
ally. A few isolated Chinook words were all he 
attempted, although he listened deferentially as 
she tried to tell him about her cur, which was 
revoltingly sick. He interpreted what he could 
to Desire and assured the old woman he would 
send down some good dog-medicine the next time 
Jimmie should come to town. 


Kith and Kin 307 

The degraded creature was swathed, rather 
than clothed, in disgusting rags of garments. 
Her feet were bare, although a pair of stout 
shoes stood in the corner. She looked scarce 
human. Yet, as they turned to go, Kenelm told 
Desire that the old squaw expressed a wish for 
her to come again. 

Turning back to smile an acknowledgment to 
the invitation, she caught the same sly leer that 
Aunt Mudge had bestowed. 

Involuntarily, she shuddered again. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE INDIAN HERITAGE 

W HAT had suddenly come between them? 
Desire dared not guess. The day passed 
in wretched merriment. 

It was nine o^ clock when they moored at the 
Custom House, where they left the canoe and 
walked back to Desire’s boarding-house. 

In hailing distance of the Custom House Ken- 
elm had stopped paddling to give his well-known 
call. Auntie Fraser, exactly as of old, had 
arisen from her hammock to send the shrill 
response. 

‘‘What a girl she is!” Desire exclaimed. “Do 
you know, that was precisely what you two did 
the first time you ever took me out canoeing — 
in the old dugout. Do you remember?” 

Kenelm’s carefully maintained gaiety died 
gradually away after they had established them- 
selves as usual on the vine-shaded porch of the 
aristocratic boarding-house. He did not seem to 
wish to go, and yet he held that indefinable 
distance of mood and speech. Desire, emulat- 


308 


The Indian Heritage 309 

ing his calmness, listened and replied, easily. 
She thought of many things. 

Especially she remembered the first unkind- 
ness that had ever come between them, the day 
they had gone together to visit the White Stone 
Chief. That experience had given her the first 
hint of the emotional storms possible beneath the 
amiable stoicism of his exterior. 

Just what was it she had made him promise? 
Something like this: that if she should ever do 
or say anything to offend or hurt him he was to 
tell her; give her a chance to explain. 

She smiled a trifle bitterly as she told herself 
that this was one promise he had failed to keep, 
despite his sensitive probity. She reminded 
herself that he had had much to try him and 
to irritate his sensitiveness. She would make 
an attempt — just one — to get at this trouble 
which was dividing them. But she would also 
be true to her promise to Frau Eda — and to her 
own sense of delicacy. 

They sat on the steps; he on the higher, she 
on the lower, so that in speaking she must turn 
slightly to see his face in the silver shine of the 
summer night. 

“I have a favor to ask,” she began, with quiet 
resolution, turning more decidedly toward him. 

Granted,” he replied readily. His hand, 
resting on his knee, closed slowly; which she 
did not observe 


310 


Kenelm’s Desire 


^^Once, the first time we were — unkind — to 
each other, you promised that if at any time I 
should hurt or displease you, you would let me 
know. I am afraid that in some way I have 
offended you. Will you tell me how?^’ 

‘‘What possible reason could there be for me 
to feel hurt or offended? You have always — 
been — 

She waited for the conclusion that would not 
come. 

“I have always been — I shall always be — 
your friend.’^ She dared not say more if she were 
to be true to her word. But she impulsively 
placed her hand on his, still lying clenched on 
his knee. 

He knew she loved him ; every agitated syllable 
told. But she had said “ friend ’M 

Why should she equivocate with him? Why 
not be frank? It had the sting of an insult. 

He sat unmoving, not a tremor in the cool 
hand beneath her light clasp. 

Too proud to appear conscious of the implied 
repulse, shamed by the memory that once before 
he had rejected the kindly pressure of her hand, 
she released her touch gradually while she at- 
tempted some commonplace remark. She had 
time to form a half-plan of escape into the house, 
when she felt his arms close around her. He 
drew her to him with a fierceness that frightened 
while it filled her with the delirium of joy. 


The Indian Heritage 31 i 

What he said, or whether he spoke at all, she 
did not know. Only, that his arms were around 
her once more. Only, that he held her close, 
with a heavily throbbing heart and breath that 
rushed hurrying against her forehead, to stir the 
loosened tendrils of her hair ; close — as a man 
might grasp a treasure long lost and bitterly 
despaired of — a thing inestimably precious — of 
which it was impossible to speak. And how 
could he speak — his face buried deep in the 
fragrance of her hair? 

Ah — just to be happy! To be happy! 

The fury of his love daunted while it filled her 
with ecstasy. In other days he had been gentle. 
She stirred remonstratingly. 

As at the shift of wizard’s wand, the spell that 
held them dissolved. He released her instantly, 
picked up her fallen cape and wrapped it around 
her shoulders, saying with anxious courtesy, ‘‘I 
am sure you are chilly. The dew is heavy 
to-night. You must not take cold.” 

Her self-control was not so ready, but she sat 
quiet until he had arranged the cloak practically 
and efficiently, then she replied, “I believe I do 
feel the cold.” She arose and held out her hand 
in dismissal. He, rising also, barely touched it, 
raised his hat, said goodnight and went away. 

Desire went slowly up to Frau Eda. 

‘‘Miitterchen,” she said softly, am ready to 
go on to New York.” 


312 


Kenelm^s Desire 


“Are you sure you will not regret it?^* 

“Not sure of that, but sure I want to go. I 
must go, little mother.’’ 

“You realize it will be final?” 

“Yes, final.” 

“What has happened?” 

“Nothing.” 

An incredulous silence. 

“Nothing,” Desire reiterated. “But I am 
tired out with nothingness. Please don’t argue. 
You should be glad.” 

“Only your happiness could make me glad.” 

“Well, then, go and write some of your inimit- 
able notes to say goodbye. I can see none of 
them. I will pack, and we will take the Pleasure 
for Vancouver at eight o’clock in the morning.” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


PREMIER OF BRITISH COLUMBIA 

T he Conservatives grinned among them- 
selves; the Liberals drew a long breath 
of apprehension, mingled with relief. The 
long-expected had happened; Lanahan had re- 
signed from the cabinet. 

‘^Let Melton run it,’^ he remarked ominously 
on the surrendering of his portfolio. “He thinks 
he knows so much more than I do — let him run 
it!” What Mr. Dunlap, the Lieutenant-Governor, 
said in reply was purely a matter of conjecture. 

“I’ll never tell you,” Lanahan answered all 
inquiries concerning it. “What I said is my 
own, and common property. What the Lieu- 
tenant-Governor says is of no importance to the 
public unless he says it officially. Just let 
Melton run it — that’s all!” 

Ministerial majorities dwindled to a bare one 
or two; both sides realized that the government 
was in its death throe. It lingered on for a full 
three months, far beyond what should have 
brought the close of the session, until, one day, 


313 


314 


Kenelm’s Desire 


on an unimportant question the vote went, al- 
most by an inadvertency, against the Liberals; 
and the Lieutenant-Governor felt justified in 
calling on Melton (who was plucky enough to 
wish to continue in the face of the adverse vote) 
to surrender his portfolio. 

The Lieutenant-Governor was indisputably in 
the right, as even the Liberals felt. The govern- 
ment was too weak to venture any question of 
importance; in consequence, the session had 
dragged along beyond all precedent, with no 
results. 

Once more in opposition, the members of the 
party felt that they should become united, win 
back the malcontents, combine on a stronger 
leader and get another turn at the cabinet before 
so very long a time had elapsed. 

What, then, was their consternation on hearing 
that Mr. Dunlap had sent for Bob Lanahan to 
form a new cabinet. The Conservatives were 
furious; the Liberals still more enraged. They 
felt their doom to be sealed — for there was not 
one of them but put the whole responsibility of 
their defeat on Fighting Bob’s shoulders. Not 
only their recent defeat, but the ridiculous in- 
efficiency of their entire career was owing to this 
man’s obstinacy and disappointed ambition. 

They interviewed the Lieutenant-Governor in 
squads and singly. Over and over they demon- 
strated the working force of the Liberals, at last a 


Premier of British Columbia 315 

unit on the question of Lanahan’s premiership, and 
pledged themselves to support unanimously any 
other man of their number. They endeavored 
to draw from him an acknowledgment that Lan- 
ahan could not control a single vote in the house. 

Mr. Dunlap replied to all their remonstrances, 
‘‘I yielded to your judgment before, with the 
result you see. I am within my prerogative and 
shall not permit myself to be influenced against 
what I consider the wise course to pursue.’’ 

Then they sat back and waited for Lanahan to 
demonstrate his own weakness. In caucus they 
decided that no member of the party should 
accept a portfolio at Lanahan’s hands. The 
Conservatives, of course, would not — they were 
openly exulting over the plight of the Liberals. 

Lanahan could not form a ministry and the 
absurd pretension would fall to the ground. 

Lanahan had, in fact, underrated his unpop- 
ularity. Every overture from him was uncon- 
ditionally and sternly rejected. There was no 
possibility of his forming a cabinet. As he did 
not openly assume his new dignity, the party 
had hopes. 

On the second day of the situation, when the 
Lieutenant-Governor presumably must make an- 
other selection, every seat in the Legislative 
Chamber was promptly filled. Both parties 
were unable to guess the man upon whom the 
choice would fall. 


3i6 


Kenelm’s Desire 


That a Liberal would have the best chance of 
surviving all were agreed, as late events had 
brought every straggler back into the fold. 

The House was late in coming to order. 
Hardly had it done so when, from the outside, 
came the strains of the national anthem. The 
members stared at one another, bewildered. 
They recognized the musicianly execution of the 
celebrated Fifth Regiment Band, which for years 
has been Guard of Honor to the Lieutenant- 
Governor. 

Lanahan, ignored, but for the first time on the 
Premier’s bench, grew a shade less florid as the 
great entrance doors swung open and the meas- 
ured tread of the Lieutenant-Governor’s proces- 
sion fell on their startled ears. 

The members were on their feet before the 
significance of the occurrence dawned on them. 
In a second they felt it must mean prorogation. 
So wild a measure as dissolution thus soon after 
a general election did not enter their heads. But 
prorogation at the sole discretion of the Lieuten- 
ant-Governor, without his having consulted or so 
much as notified the party leaders! Without the 
observance of any of the ordinary courtesies of 
the occasion; without issuing the customary invi- 
tations to members of professional circles to 
witness the brilliant ceremonial! A closing to 
galleries empty of elaborately gowned femininity; 
a closing deficient in every item of the social 


Premier of British Columbia 317 

pomp and display dear to participants and sight- 
seers from the very inception of their local govern- 
ment! 

It was a high-handed proceeding — altogether 
intolerable 1 

Only their inbred reverence for the sovereign 
whom the Lieutenant-Governor represented in 
person kept the outraged members in place as 
the procession swept in from the beautiful, circu- 
lar, loftily-domed vestibule. 

This part of the ceremony lacked no item of 
gorgeousness. The flagship War spite being in 
harbor, an admiral lent to the display his gold- 
bedecked person, surrounded by his little-less 
scintillating staff of officers. Officers of the 
Imperial troops, followed by officers of the local 
militia, glittered bravely in the red and gold of 
their full-dress uniforms; even the Lieutenant- 
Governor^ s private secretary would have been an 
imposing sight had he not closely followed his 
principal, who, wearing the uniform of his regi- 
ment, smothered in gold braid, gold lace and 
official decorations, bearing his white-plumed hat 
on a head held somewhat defiantly erect, was Ihe 
dominating figure. 

Some minutes were consumed in the stately 
progress up the gangway to the Throne, vacated 
by the Speaker on the entrance of the representa- 
tive of royalty. 

Reaching it, the Lieutenant-Governor turned 


Kenelm’s Desire 


318 

with pompous deliberation to face the House, to 
announce the selection of Lanahan and to read 
his proclamation of dissolution; raising as he did 
so his beplumed chapeau in deference to the 
Sovereign People. 

With one single exception the Sovereign People 
were no longer in The Presence. 

During the ceremonial of placing the Lieu- 
tenant-Governor and his numerous retinue, 
thirty-seven of the thirty-eight members of the 
Legislative Assembly of British Columbia had 
spontaneously and with silent unanimity walked 
out of the Legislative Chamber; had quietly but 
resolutely turned their broad British backs on 
the local embodiment of Empire. 

Solitary, beside the Premier’s desk, stood the 
Honorable Robert Lanahan, representing in his 
sole person the legislative sovereignty of a prov- 
ince; in realization of his early boast — at last 
and indisputably Premier of British Columbia. 


CHAPTER XXX 


THE GODDESS FROM THE MACHINE 

I F the event had come like a lightning stroke^ 
the news of it might aptly be compared to the 
resulting conflagration. 

Bob Lanahan Premier — without a single vote 
in the House to his support! It roused well-nigh 
inextinguishable laughter — the kind that conveys 
a threat. 

People said he would not dare face his constit- 
uents with such a showing. It was a farce. A 
Premier who could not form a cabinet, let alone 
command the vote of the House! 

Then they heard that before dissolution a 
cabinet had been formed. 

Bewilderment succeeded bewilderment. Which 
of those sturdy thirty-seven could have weakened ? 

Blakiston ! Why — Blakiston was not in par- 
liament — when did he get in ? And Blakiston 
was suspiciously bankrupt. Blakiston to be 
Minister of Finance! What about Hall? When 
did he get in? 

Then the truth broke upon the province. 
Lanahan had formed a cabinet of non-members! 


319 


320 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Why — it couldn’t be done! Non-members! 
The man was cracked! The fresh outburst of 
laughter was all menace. Fighting Bob had got 
hold of the wrong weapons, this time, sure! 

Some asserted at first flush that there was 
nothing unconstitutional in a cabinet of non- 
members. It took courage, just at the start. 
Soon everybody was saying it. It was legal, in 
that no law prohibited it. 

With a mighty sweep the public rage turned 
toward the Lieutenant-Governor. 

Mr. Dunlap maintained that in selecting Mr, 
Lanahan he had consulted the best interests and 
the true sentiments of the majority of the voters 
of the Province; that he had dissolved parlia- 
ment to demonstrate that he had the Country 
back of him. Parliament had ceased to repre- 
sent the feeling of the Province, which was 
heartily with Lanahan. He appealed to the 
Country to justify his policy and his selection of 
Bob Lanahan to form a Government. 

Next, Lanahan came down to Wake Siah. 
The impudence of the man! Oh, he was a 
clever rogue, mind you! He was a smooth 
villain, say what you will! But they flocked to 
the Triangle to hear him; every man in town 
and many women — who secretly admired his 
audacity. 

The Union had repudiated him, officially, first 
off; but as private citizens the members were all 


The Goddess from the Machine 321 

out to hear what the man had to say for himself. 
Bob could always be counted on to give them 
their money’s worth when it came to a speech. 

They attended to hear his explanation. There 
was none; nothing that could be construed into 
an apology — no one syllable of defense. He at- 
tacked. He led his hearers with him gallantly 
against their common enemy, the late Legislative 
Assembly; showed up its vacillations, its bicker- 
ings, its compromises, trickery and trading with 
the public welfare, until many who came to jeer 
or assault remained to condone, then to admire, 
then to succumb to the powerful individuality 
and undaunted courage of the man who had 
lightly faced all British Columbia in parliament 
assembled, and now dared face a hostile mob of 
his constituents, with only his own wit and re- 
source, the strength of his argument and the 
championship of the discredited representative of 
the Crown. 

The meeting of the Union which followed 
was a hot one. A large and augmenting section 
was for supporting Lanahan and renominating 
him. Word had gone out that Old Sandy was to 
stand for the Conservative interest; and what 
with his personal popularity (on the whole he 
had been a just master and a generous benefac- 
tor) and the public disgust with Mr. Dunlap, it 
was feared the manager stood a pretty fair show 
of being elected. 


322 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Mr. Alexander in, the fight against coolie labor 
would go badly. 

Whom had they popular enough to oppose Mr. 
Alexander ? Whom but F ighting Bob ? This very 
maneuver of forming an outside cabinet followed 
by dissolution showed Lanahan’s familiarity with 
parliamentary manipulation. That it was a vio- 
lent proceeding, no one had disputed; but they 
had arrived at a stage when violence was neces- 
sary. The country had returned a clear Liberal 
majority a year ago. What had been done? 
Where was the promised protection against con- 
tract labor? Old Sandy still gave employment 
to hundreds of Chinamen in the dangerous gal- 
leries of the Provincial Mining Company. Jap- 
anese contractors were offering their gangs to 
the Fraser River canneries at nine cents a fish, 
the excess to be refused. That sort of thing was 
bound to lead to violence somewhere. Better 
have it out in the Legislative Assembly than 
between strikers and soldiers. 

Kenelm did not attend the meeting. He had 
got hold of Lanahan and taken him to the office 
for a private talk. 

Kenelm’s support was the one thing Lanahan 
wanted — had pledged himself to Mr. Dunlap 
to obtain. Kenelm controlled the younger men, 
the Native Sons, who, besides casting three hun- 
dred of the one thousand votes in Wake Siah, 
influenced fully a third more. 


The Goddess from the Machine 323 

A Native Son defection would mean defeat to 
the Liberal candidate; for the Native Sons were 
Liberal, to a man, since the anti-coolie agitation. 

But Sabellita Island Jimmie was at the Union 
that night, and a nearly full representation of the 
Sons. Of late they had held more than one 
meeting at the bastion, to discuss Society affairs 
so trivial that Kenelm had hardly more than 
looked in, acceded to the different decisions re- 
garding new regalia, and had gone off to more 
important conferences elsewhere. The afternoon 
meeting on the day of Lanahan’s speech he had 
not been able to attend, in consequence of a 
special Union meeting to debate their attitude 
toward Lanahan, unexpectedly arrived on the 
afternoon train. 

In the evening meeting, at the floodtide of 
Lanahan’ s returning popularity, Jimmie got upon 
his legs, for the first time in the Union since his 
memorable speech at the selection of Lanahan 
for Labor candidate in the previous campaign. 

He had done some terse speechmaking since 
then, in the privacy of the Native Sons’ con- 
fabulations. 

‘‘Who says there is no one to oppose Mr. 
Alexander except Bob Lanahan?” he asked 
sonorously. “There’s a man in town who has 
opposed him more than once — yes, and downed 
him, too. You know who I mean.” There was 
an I-told-you-so ring in his voice which conveyed 


324 


Kenelm’s Desire 


his meaning with all explicitness. ‘^Kenelm 
Fraser — ” (preconcerted cheers) isn’t afraid of 
Old Sandy and if he can get a hearing in Ot- 
tawa, there’s no good reason why he can’t in 
Victoria. They thought him good enough to 
listen to, back there. He got onto their tactics 
well enough, with the best speaker of British 
Columbia and the best speakers of the Dominion 
against him. He didn’t try any monkey-shines. 
I’ll admit; but he didn’t do anything to shame 
the people who sent him, either. He knows the 
law as well as any man living, and he knows 
politics well enough not to have to drag in trick- 
ery. You want to know why the Liberals haven’t 
done anything? Why the Chinks and the Japs 
are piling in thicker than ever? Well, don’t 
blame the Conservatives and Mr. Alexander; 
don’t blame the Liberals, they tried hard enough 
— the honest ones; blame Bob Lanahan the 
obstructionist, who couldn’t get to be Premier 
first off, and had just enough say to wreck his 
party, to get even. But he lacks good judgment. 
He thought and Dunlap thought, that once 
Premier he could control the place-hunters, if 
nobody else. But he couldn’t hold even them. 
The thing was too rank. Now we’re to send 
him back, are we? We’re to overlook that he’s 
a traitor who hasn’t a principle in the world 
except to look out for Number One, and we’re 
to stand by and watch him lording it over men 


The Goddess from the Machine 325 

home-born and home-bred who have more brains 
in their little fingers than he’s got in his whole 
thick head, but are too honest to cut the throats 
of the working men for the sake of being Premier 
of British Columbia. Kenelm Fraser has been 
working for us all, tooth and nail, since he was a 
boy. He is an elector; he has a stake in the 
country; there’s no trouble about property quali- 
fication ; his business is here — just here ! If he 
goes back on us he’s a ruined man. He’s one of us. 
Our interests are his interests. In protecting us 
he is protecting his own business and his friends. 

‘^That’s safer than putting ourselves into the 
hands of a man who has sold us out once for his 
own glory and may sell us the next time for 
money. Rather than that — I’d vote for Old 
Sandy, or the Devil himself. I don’t intend to 
be made a fool of the second time by the same 
man. I prefer variety. I say — we’ve given 
Lanahan his trial and he’s made a laughing 
stock of us to our faces. The next Liberal vote 
I cast will be for Kenelm Fraser.” 

After the subsidence of the Native Sons’ ap- 
plause, which, as Jimmie anxiously noted, formed 
the bulk of the tumult, there was noticeable a 
general inclination to dodge the issue. 

Nobody attacked Kenelm, but, aside from sup- 
porting speeches by other Sons, the suggestion 
found no advocate bold enough to put his par- 
tisanship into words. 


326 


Kenelm’s Desire 


The meeting went lamely for a short time, 
then adjourned. Jimmie and his band began 
proselyting with determined vigor and by the 
next day at noon the affair was abroad in town. 

‘‘It’s the only way out,” Jimmie said in private 
discussion with Mr. Alexander, who had sent a 
civil request for the honor. “They don’t feel 
half as sore at Lanahan since he’s got back and 
given them a lick with the smooth side of his 
tongue. They know he’s played them, but they 
say he’s the only man in the party who has the 
spunk to put this Chinese legislation through. 
The word is, if he’d been Premier before, he’d 
have got the thing done; and I guess they’re 
about right. I’ve said some pretty rough things 
about him, but they’re a good part gag. If he 
gets in, the Chinese business will move, all right. 
I ain’t afraid of that. What I want is, to see 
Kenelm get the chance. He’s waited long 
enough. This time he’d take it, I haven’t a 
doubt. He won’t say a word, one way or an- 
other, but I know for sure that he and Lanahan 
could not get on, last night. Now, the question 
is, which of the two do you want to run against? 
You’ve no show, either way, for we Natives are 
making our fight all beforehand. You may hear 
that we’re going to bolt and vote the Conserva- 
tive ticket; don’t you believe it. We’ll run Ken if 
we can. If we can’t, we’ll vote for the Liberal 
candidate anyway. 


The Goddess from the Machine 327 

Ken’s moderate. He don’t expect to get the 
earth all fenced in for us. That’s what he and 
Lanahan split on. Lanahan’s for a clean sweep. 
No Chinese in the country in any capacity. 
Firemen and all to go. That’s unreasonable. 
It’s a job nobody wants, and the Chinese can’t 
do any damage above ground, and there are 
Chinese here we can’t turn out of the country. 
The Liberals are going in with a majority that 
will give them everything in sight. Sentiment is 
up on the labor question. You can have the say 
as to which Liberal goes in, and that’s about all 
there is in it for you, this time.” 

‘Ht would hardly serve Fraser to have my 
open support.” 

‘‘Not on your life! It’s got to be done on the 
dead quiet. But if you don’t throw your weight 
either way, you’ll elect Lanahan. We Native Sons 
can swing about four hundred votes, all told, but 
I give Lanahan nearer five. Your little hundred 
or so of Conservatives will turn the scale.” 

“Then Fraser will probably owe his election 
or failure to m — to the Conservatives?” 

“That’s right!” 

“You probably are aware that the Provincial 
Mining Company has no debt of gratitude to 
pay off in that direction?” 

“But they have their own interests to consult.” 

“ Of which,” with exquisite suavity, “ they doubt- 
less consider themselves best qualified to judge.” 


328 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Jimmie straightened up as for the delivery of 
a shoulder-blow, and took silent leave. 

Kenelm was not ready to decide. 

‘‘Give me a few days, Jimmie,’’ he stipulated. 
“I don’t want to go into this until I know how 
I’ll stand with the party in case I get in. They 
may know of some one they would prefer, or who 
would have a better chance. I am willing enough 
to try it this time, but not if it will disturb party 
harmony. There is too much at stake. I’ll go 
down to Victoria to-morrow and find out how 
the land lies.” 

Almost the first person Kenelm met in Vic- 
toria, when he had walked up town, was Lady 
Pelley. He stopped, his face lighting up with 
pleasure. Lady Pelley was stiff. 

“What did you do to her?” she asked trucu- 
lently. Kenelm stood as though turned to stone. 
Lady Pelley relaxed a bit. 

“I’m at my daughter’s,” she said. “I 
want to have a talk with you. Mind! It isn’t 
going to be a pleasant one! But I want you to 
come.” 

He hesitated. “I did not know you were 
here,” he said mechanically. 

“Just fresh from San Francisco,” she replied 
promptly. “Are you coming? When?” 

“I can go along just now, if you wish,” con- 
fusedly. They walked in silence to her daughter’s 
house. Lady Pelley with her chin in air, her 


The Goddess from the Machine 329 

blue eyes darting bird-glances at her silent, 
unobservant, companion. 

“Now, tell me what you did to her,” the 
determined lady reiterated, after seating him in 
the back drawing-room. 

“I don’t think I quite understand.” 

“Well, you did something. I saw that the 
moment I popped eyes on her.” 

“What makes you think I had anything to do 
with it?” 

Her blue eyes snapped. 

“You don’t need to tell me to my face I’m a fool! 
You were free enough to let me see you cared 
for her, a year or so back. Have you turned?” 

“You can’t expect me to acknowledge that. 
But I don’t see that we have the right to discuss 
her this way. How would she feel about it?” 

“That’s exactly what I don’t know. She 
wasn’t afraid to let me know how she felt a year 
agone; but this time I hadn’t the pluck to say 
a word, if I’d wanted to, ever so much. I’m 
bent on getting it out of you. Oh yes! I knew 
very well how she felt — then!” 

Kenelm’s voice trembled with his effort to keep 
it steady. 

“But — I did not,” he said. 

“Lord love you! And she came all this dis- 
tance to let you know!” 

Kenelm sprang up, strode once across the 
room, then back. 


330 


Kenelm^s Desire 


^^Did she?^^ he demanded hoarsely. “How 
do you know?” 

“I am not here to speak for her,” Lady Pelley 
retorted sharply. “If you want to set yourself 
straight with me, I’d be right glad to have you 
get about it. I’ve committed myself far enough 
in your interest. If we are to know each other 
from this on, I am entitled to an explanation of 
your conduct.” 

“I certainly don’t know what you’re getting 
at,” Kenelm said doggedly. “But God knows 
I’m willing to tell you anything that concerns 
me. So just put your questions.” 

“In the first place, why did Desire come 
North?” 

“That’s what I’ve asked myself, more than 
once.” 

“It did not enter your silly noddle to ask her?’* 

“Well, it was this way. I’ll tell it all from the 
beginning. I’m glad to. I’ve never had a sou] 
I dared talk it out with, or that I wanted to, 
But perhaps you can show me that I did wrong, 
It’ll be the biggest service any one could do me, 
I don’t care how hard you bear down; but I 
want to find out the truth of it all. You see, 
nearly three years ago, when Desire went home, 
we were engaged.” Her Ladyship’s head bobbed 
judicially. “Then, on account of her mother, 
she broke it off; short off; without giving me a 
chance to put in a plea.” 


The Goddess from the Machine '331 

^‘And you took it without a murmur?’’ 

can’t say that. But I told her she would 
change her mind when she got to seeing it in a 
better light. I said I would not ask her again 
until she gave me permission. She had com- 
manded me never to speak of it again, you see.” 
Lady Pelley’s lips curled sardonically. “Well, it 
went on that way for nearly two years, then she 
wrote that she and Frau Eda were going East by 
way of the Canadian Pacific, and would stop over 
in Wake Siah. I was fair mad with joy when I 
read it. I thought now it would all come right. 
But I didn’t dare say a word for fear I should get 
in the wrong. So I waited for her to give me the 
word.” 

Lady Pelley sniffed. 

“Well,” he replied to the sniff, “I didn’t under- 
stand the situation — and I had said the first 
word would have to come from her.” 

“You had said! You had said!” in towering 
wrath. “And you waited for the wee bit crea- 
ture to do the wooing ! Get away with you ! I’ve 
heard enough — the Lord knows!” 

“Wait! Perhaps I was wrong, and I was just 
beginning to think so — oh, you don’t know 
what she was like — she is an angel — no, not 
that, she is so much — ” 

“Sweeter than an angel. Go on.” 

“Well, I don’t think my word would have held 
out very long — it wouldn’t have lasted an hour 


332 


Kenelm’s Desire 


if it hadn’t been for Frau Eda sitting around, 
looking on. I always felt as if I were on trial 
before her. I couldn’t get rid of the idea, even 
when I was alone with Desire. Frau Eda came 
up to investigate; when she had made up her 
mind, all they had to do was to let me know. 
Oh, I know just how bad it sounds; but that is 
the way it looked to me at the time. But, as I 
say, it would have worn off if it hadn’t been for 
— you know — poor Allie. It was Frau Eda 
who acted the angel then. But she kept Desire 
out of the way — and right, too, I knew she was 
right. But it made me feel as if to come near 
Desire would be contamination. And when all 
that was over, well, they were good to me, but a 
little different — kind of pitying, and — I didn’t 
intend to be taken up one day and thrown off 
the next — one such experience — oh! — I don’t 
know why that feeling should come up! I know 
it is unjust, even while I think it. But, anyway, 
I’ve never been able to conquer it entirely. Any- 
way, I made up my mind that, before I asked 
her again I would be sure she knew everything 
about me and my surroundings. So I took De- 
sire for a day on Sabellita.” 

Lady Pelley looked puzzled. 

“It’s an Indian settlement, where there are a 
number of mother’s — my kin. They would be 
her kin, too, if — but it was a cruel thing to do. 
She shrank from them!” 


The Goddess from the Machine 333 

For once Lady Pelley had nothing to interject 
into the ensuing silence. 

“That hardened me. I could not ask her to 
join herself to people so far beneath her. The 
words would have choked me. And after that 
she was so lovely — and considerate — and sym- 
pathetic — it almost made me hate her!’^ 

“The poor lad!’’ murmured Lady Pelley, 
abandoning herself to the extreme corner of her 
handkerchief. “But,” briskly, “you were in sad 
need of a clout on the ear for all that!” 

Kenelm picked up her diamond-weighted fin- 
gers and kissed them. 

“I wish these had been there to give it to me! 
That wasn’t the worst. After we got home she 
wanted to be good to me. She was sorry, you 
know, and she told me she would always be my 
friend. My friend! Think of that! After all 
these years I have loved her! I wonder I didn’t 
do her an injury!” 

He paced restlessly once or twice across the 
room. 

“Why should she have hurt me like that? I’ve 
thought and thought about it. At the moment I 
thought it was duplicity. She did not mean her 
friend — and I swore she should tell me the 
truth, or never hear word of love from me. But 
that couldn’t last. I loved her too dear to stay 
angry. I puzzled over it all night, and feared 
that Frau Eda had decided against me, and that 


334 


Kenelm’s Desire 


was her gentle way of telling me. And I made up 
my mind to ask her, straight out, the next day.’’ 
He stood a moment, both hands pressed to his face. 
‘'The next day,” speaking rapidly, “they were 
gone. There was no hint that they ever expected 
or cared to hear from any of us again. It was 
what she saw on Sabellita did it. That’s all.” 

“No, lad, there’s more to it.” 

“What then?” 

“If you could see Desire you would know 
better than I could ever tell you.” 

“She’s not ill!” 

“Not in body, though she’s that frail the sun 
fair shines through her when she gets in a strong 
light. But sick at heart — she’s that, dear, and 
all on account of your cold-heartedness.” 

“Lady Pelleyl” 

“And Injun stubbornness!^^ 

“How dare—” 

“And NASTY, stinkin’ pride!” 

Kenelm dropped on his knees, caught both 
her hands and pressed them a hundred times to 
his lips. 

“Dear Lady Pelley! Dear Lady Pelley! Tell 
me what to do!” 

“Get up — and don’t play the fool!” 

“I can’t help it — sure I can’t!” springing to 
his feet. “Come! tell me what you mean. Oh, 
I feel drunk! I never felt so light-headed in my 
life. Tell me why you talk like that.” 


The Goddess from the Machine 335 

‘‘You don’t deserve it.” 

“Oh, that’s all right! I never claimed to 
deserve Desire.” 

“Well, mind you, I don’t know but Desire has 
forgotten all about you by this time. There’s a 
canny young doctor down there would give his 
ears — ” 

‘ ‘ W hat-am-1 -to-do? ’ ’ 

“Go down there and tell her the whole thing, 
just as you’ve told it over to me.” 

“Would she — but that’s no difference! I’ve 
treated her like a cad and I’ll go tell her so. 
I’ll tell Frau Eda, too. Then if Desire wants 
to refuse me, she may. At least I’ll have 
made what reparation I can for my brutality. 
And there’ll be no more suspense. If Frau 
Eda interferes. I’ll — I’ll make love to her, 
too!” 

“You’re quite equal to it. Unhand me, sir!” 

Kenelm caught the other five fingers, holding 
them until she shrieked with pain. Then he 
kissed the ring marks. After that he settled 
down to a state more nearly resembling sanity. 

“Desire said one true word about you.” 

“What was it?” 

“Ask her, some day, what she whispered in 
my ear to win me to your interest.” 

“She did that?” 

“Now — now! I’ll tell you nothing. Go and 
ask her. There’s a boat leaves to-morrow.” 


33*5 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Kenelm thought steadily before he replied. 
Then he told her all about the political situation. 

‘^For Desire’s sake, as well as my own, I ought 
to stay and see it through. If there’s a chance 
for me, I want it — for her. Even if I am de- 
feated it will give me standing to have run. I’ll 
write her to expect me. If I succeed, I’ll go; 
if I fail — well,” laughing boyishly, ‘‘I’ll go.” 


CHAPTER XXXI 


A NEW DEAL 

“T JUST wonder if you^re a-lyinM” 

I Gonzales busied himself imperturbably with 
his wet clay. Lydia moved aimlessly about, 
watching the sculptor furtively; unable, with all 
her Indian keenness of perception, to read his 
Indian immobility of countenance. 

Lydia had managed to know Gonzales very 
soon after the chance encounter at the Park 
Street station. Gonzales — well, he did not 
trouble himself over his latest conquest. He 
was used to the experience. Sometimes he was 
fired to response, sometimes he was amused and 
sometimes he was bored — as now. He felt 
something of the full-blood^s contempt for the 
half-breed; he had soon decided to rid himself 
of her. 

That was not easy. Since the affair of Angus 
McLeod, Lydia had walked circumspectly, for 
her. A fresh love affair was not so easily com- 
passed, now that the milkiness of her throat and 
shoulders had grown sallow and creased, the 
rose-bloom in her cheeks more fixed and less 
luscious. 


337 


338 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Gonzales exerted a peculiar fascination over 
her. She hated him for being an Indian — 
while she doted. His indifference egged her on 
to indiscretion. It was of such indiscretion — 
most indefensible of all in an experienced co- 
quette — that she now spoke. But Gonzales 
calmly and consistently denied having received 
the note she should never have sent. 

Maybe it’ll come to hand yet,” Lydia said 
with studied indifference. “This is a good pic- 
ture of the doctor.” A gleam darted into her 
long brown eyes. “Let me have it?” 

“No.” 

“That’s letting me down easy, like! Well,” 
shuffling the heap of photographs as though 
searching, then leaving them to come close to 
the busy artist, “I guess I shan’t stumble on it 
here, so I might as well go. Say! Where are 
you going this evening?” 

“Theatre party,” he lied imperturbably. 

“Strikes me we don’t have as many theatre 
parties as we used to;” there was pleading in 
her bluff tones. 

“Too hard times.” 

Lydia stood off to gaze at him in mock 
admiration. 

“What a perfect brute you are!” she said softly. 
Gonzales smiled and gave her one of his level 
glances. The real color flew to Lydia’s face. She 
drew nearer. “That’s all right,” she muttered. 


A New Deal 


339 


When Lydia reached home she did a curious 
thing. She took a concert photograph of Desire 
from the wall-rack, scribbled a few lines, enclosed 
it, with the identical picture of Dr. Meredith 
which Gonzales had refused her, in an envelope 
and again left the hotel, hurriedly. This inspira- 
tion of a baffled moment was not a great revenge, 
nor did she expect more from it than a temporary 
disturbance. But Lydia was not a great woman, 
morally; and, to do her justice, she had no facili- 
ties for carrying through a scheme more consid- 
erable. Kenelm was, ordinarily, so far beyond 
all power of her injury or even annoyance, that 
this opportunity, following close upon the white 
heat of her rage on reading yesterday’s letter 
from Mel, seemed perfect. 

Mel had written that Kenelm planned to go 
South after the election; for which he had con- 
sented to run as a Liberal Independent, in oppo- 
sition to Lanahan. Auntie Fraser was off her 
head for joy. They all felt that he was going 
for Desire. 

‘‘He’s ready to pluck his pear at last — eh?” 
Lydia sneered. The next day, in Gonzales’ 
studio, the shallow little plot sprang from unex- 
pected opportunity. 

“Gonzales won’t think I’m so easy put off, after 
all,” she thought, with a thrill of apprehension. 

Gonzales did not think of her at all, for almost 
twenty-four hours. He walked blithely into the 


340 


Kenelm’s Desire 


breakfast-room of Dr. Meredith’s hotel the next 
morning just as the doctor had settled com- 
fortably down to coffee and newspaper. 

Hello! I came to congrat — ” he stopped 
short. The doctor sat staring at the freshly 
opened paper, white, trembling with rage. 

‘‘Who did it?” he demanded roughly. 

“Why, you — you don’t mean to say — ” 

“I do mean to say! Who did it?” 

“But listen. It might be a mistake.” 

“It could not be a mistake. You are the one 
person who has that photograph. It is too much 
flattered. I got the plate and destroyed it. I 
burnt every copy except the one you took.” 

“Wait for me here!” Gonzales managed to 
get out. “You’ll see whether I am a traitor. 
Then you shall answer for this!” 

Dr. Meredith hardly noticed the black fury of 
his friend. He waited, staring at the fulsome 
article illustrated by pictures of himself and 
Desire, announcing their engagement. He sent 
the bell-boy with a telegram to Desire that he 
should have a denial put in to-morrow’s issue. 
The sculptor came raging back, his eyes glitter- 
ing beadily, his skin ashen-black. 

He said, chokingly, “It is my fault. You may 
shoot me — now — but no! Not till I’ve had it 
out with her.” 

“Be calm and tell me what you mean. It is 
important I should understand.” 


A New Deal 


341 


“ The — the — Llewellyn ! The beast ! I.ydia 
Llewellyn! She was at my studio. She asked 
for it. I said, 'No!’ just like that. Damned 
overgrown brute — she stole it!” 

" Lydia Llewellyn ! What could she want of it ? ” 

“You see! Just that! I’ll make her own up! 
She shall smart!” 

Dr. Meredith pondered. “Don’t threaten or 
antagonize her,” he said. “See her and try to 
find out why she did it. I can’t get at her idea. 
Speak civilly (as civilly as you can) and don’t let 
her think it of much consequence. Can I trust 
you not to get in a rage?” 

Gonzales grinned coldly and left. That one 
excruciating moment of Dr. Meredith’s doubt of 
him should cost the woman dear. He felt of the 
Mexican dagger he had slipped into his pocket 
from force of old habit. 

It gratified Lydia, when Gonzales confronted 
her, to torment him. She divined trouble be- 
tween him and his one intimate companion. Dr. 
Meredith; it was a pleasing by-product of her 
experiment. She had always felt the doctor’s 
antagonism, especially in her relations with Gon- 
zales. To separate the two would be almost 
as great a triumph as to separate Desire and 
Kenelm. She played ignorance imperturbably. 

“You shall hear from me,” Gonzales abruptly 
ended the interview, “and you must straighten 
this out.” 


342 


Kenelm^s Desire 


The Devil entered into Gonzales. He visited 
his studio once more on his way to Morgan 
Llewellyn’s law office. 

suppose it is a case of good wishes,” Mor- 
gan said in greeting, with a motion toward the 
morning paper. 

came to you about that. It is a fake.” 
fake?” 

‘‘A hoax.” 

hope you are mistaken.” 

“My authority is Dr. Meredith.” 

“What could be the motive?” 

“That I cannot say. I know who did it.” 

“Who?” 

“Mrs. Lydia Llewellyn.” 

Morgan’s face burned dully. “Did she tell 
you so?” 

“She denied it.” 

“Then,” rising ceremoniously, “that hypothe- 
sis is disposed of. Good-morning.” 

“Not until you have heard my explanation.” 

“I can hear nothing other than an apology.” 

“I insist on telling you my reasons for doubt- 
ing your wife’s word.” 

Taking advantage of Morgan’s apprehensive 
silence, Gonzales rapidly outlined the situation. 

“I prefer to believe that there has been another 
copy of the photograph accessible.” 

“Then where is mine?” 

“You have overlooked it. I see how it appears 


A New Deal 


343 

to you. I shall expect an apology when you have 
found out your error.” 

‘‘By God! It is you who shall apologize 
— you and your devilish half-breed — or to- 
morrow’s paper shall print a bigger sensation 
than this!” 

He drew out a scented note and stepped be- 
tween Morgan and the bell-knob, toward which 
Morgan had turned. 

“Read this!” he snarled, holding it folded so 
that the dashing signature “Lydia” stared the 
husband in the face. 

Morgan reeled, as though poisoned by the 
heavy sandalwood fragrance against which he 
had for years vainly protested. 

“You will read the rest of it to-morrow, in the 
public print.” 

“Give it to me!” Morgan sprang furiously at 
the folded paper. Gonzales’ right hand, hidden 
an instant before in his breast, came out with 
the dagger. Morgan stood, panting, watching 
his opening for a leap that should disarm his 
antagonist. 

The thought of his son came at the saving 
moment. Risk death for the sake of an aban- 
doned woman, an Indian half-breed? Leave his 
son to grow up hampered by the disgrace of a 
father killed in a low brawl; a shameless mother; 
to grow up surrounded by the evil influences of 
Lydia’s life, sure to riot unrestrained once the 


344 


Kenelm’s Desire 


cloak of conventional decency had been torn 
from her shoulders? What he must do he did 
not clearly see, except that he must live to pro- 
tect Elbridge from his mother. 

“God knows I have injured him enough as 
it is,^’ he groaned. His attitude relaxed. He 
turned wearily to his desk, sat down and covered 
his face with his hands. He had forgotten 
Gonzales. 

Gonzales watched him, puzzled. He hesitated 
whether or not to speak. To spare the van- 
quished is not an Indian characteristic. But 
Gonzales had lived among gentlepeople of late 
years, and had insensibly become softened to 
the sight of suffering. It takes constant habi- 
tude to inure a human being to the sight of 
distress; the sympathetic suggestion is painful. 

It appeared, also, a senseless waste that a man 
should sacrifice himself to so worthless a thing as 
Lydia. He moved furtively toward the desk, 
laid down the incriminating letter and stealthily 
left the room. 

When Morgan raised his head, minutes after, 
he was not surprised to find himself alone. He 
had forgotten the Aztec. 

His anger against Lydia burned down slug- 
gishly. Why had he been surprised? He had 
married her, knowing her life. The woman had 
made herself pleasant and amusing through a 
severe political strain, had come to him of her 


A New Deal 


345 


own accord and had given him no cause to sus- 
pect her fidelity. It would have ended some day, 
as such connections do end, had it not been for 
the child. Lydia had shrewdly established this 
claim on his protection. 

How easily it might have been repudiated! 
Had he stood firm, she would in a year or two 
have been glad to hand his boy over into his 
keeping. 

Lydia looked up from her embroidery in mild 
surprise as her husband entered the parlor of 
their pretty hotel suite. Morgan had for some 
time been fairly prosperous. She called Elly to 
bring back her scissors from the nursery. 

“Anything up, Morg?” 

Her unaffected tranquillity filled him with dis- 
may. How much their double life had held of 
which he must ever remain ignorant! In his 
ignorance he imagined a state of affairs worse 
than had existed. 

“Send Elbridge into the nursery,’’ he said in his 
ordinary tone. “And by the way, call the cham- 
bermaid to pack his grip. I am going to take 
him up to mother’s on the evening train. Pack 
mine, too,” to the girl who answered the bell. 
“Not much. I shan’t be gone over two days.” 

“Short notice, ain’t it?” Lydia asked, rocking 
comfortably. “But his grandma has been beg- 
ging for him these two months.” 


346 


Kenelm’s Desire 


Morgan turned the key in the nursery door, 
then locked the door into the corridor. Lydia 
watched him with suddenly awakened misgiving. 

‘‘What’s that for?” 

“I don’t wish to be interrupted. I came to 
tell you of a change in my plans which will affect 
you. To-night Elbridge and I go to the ranch. 
During my two days’ absence, you will vacate 
the rooms. On my return I shall institute pro- 
ceedings for a divorce.” 

Lydia went white as chalk, except for the arti- 
ficial areas on her cheeks. They made her look 
hag-like. 

“Have you gone stark crazy?” 

“If you prefer to keep the rooms, you can 
have my things sent to the Palace. You will 
hardly be permitted to go on here after the 
suit has begun. If you decide not to oppose, 
I can get it put through without much 
exposure.” 

“Are you stark, staring crazy? There’s not 
going to be any divorce suit, if I have anything 
to say about it.” 

“You have had your say.” 

“Just you listen to me!” Lydia cried with 
recovered bravado. “There will be no divorce. 
You may want to shuffle me off, but you won’t 
find it so easy. I’m a pretty good fighter, my- 
self. You haven’t a thing to go on!” She re- 
membered the mysteriously vanished note. 


A New Deal 


347 


He took it from his pocket, on guard against 
surprise, held it up a brief moment and put it 
away. 

‘‘How did you get it?^’ she gasped. 

“Gonzales.^’ 

“That — that devil!’’ 

“You see it is useless to protest.” 

“Well, what of it? You don’t expect your 
wife to be any better than yourself, I hope.” 

“If you have any counter-charges, the judge 
will consider them.” 

Lydia was hastily recalling the contents of the 
note. 

“What’s the matter with you! I’ve been out 
in the evening with men before. You know that. 
I can’t stick at home, and you never condescend 
to take me any place nowadays. Precious virtu- 
ous you’re getting, all of a sudden! What is 
there to judge between us two, anyway? You’re 
a nice man to judge!” 

Beneath her truculence the note of fear sounded 
clear in both their ears. She recognized what she 
had long called the Llewellyn stubbornness; that 
gentle immovability which she had early learned 
not to induce. 

“Listen, Morg, that note is all foolishness. I 
didn’t mean nothing. I was just fooling. You 
oughtn’t to take it earnest. I always have flirted 
more or less, as you know. I have done nothing 
— sure! I get lonely, like, all by myself; and 


348 


Kenelm’s Desire 


you don’t care for me as much as you did. I 
don’t know why. But I’ll be more careful, after 
this. I will — sure! You know I never cared 
for anybody but you. You know that. Don’t 
you remember when you thought there was no- 
body like me? Don’t you remember how soft 
we used to be on each other?” 

His eyes dwelt on her with cold distaste. 

“It hardly seems necessary to put the situation 
into words.” 

“You can prove nothing!” desperately. “I 
have done nothing actionable.” 

“I know something of these matters.” 

“In God’s name!” She burst out horribly. 
“How did he come to do it?” 

“I thought you understood. And that re- 
minds me. I should like to get the straight of 
that affair about Desire. I do not insist,” 
courteously, “but I am sorry to have her dis- 
tressed. You would oblige me if you would 
explain.” 

“That fool trick!” Lydia exclaimed in evident 
relief. “So that’s at the bottom of all this 
how-do-you-do! Of course I’ll tell you. I’ll tell 
you all about it.” 

Her servile volubility nauseated him. 

“Ken and I don’t like each other. We haven’t 
for years. He has served me more than one 
mean trick. I heard from Mel that he was com- 
ing down to get Desire, if he could. I just 


A New Deal 


349 


thought I’d put a spoke in his wheel. I wasn’t 
even sure it would work, and I didn’t much care. 
I did it off-hand, like. It was a dirty, mean 
trick, but I never thought of its bothering you. It 
was only a joke. So I cut it out of the paper and 
addressed it to Ken and gave it to Captain Stovall 
when he called around to say goodbye. The boat 
leaves at eleven; it’s gone by now, or I’d phone 
him not to mail it. That’s all. I’m sorry enough 
now,” nervously. ^'I’ll write to Ken if you want 
me to.” 

He looked at her, commiserating and cold. 

‘‘How you have thrown your chances away!” 

Lydia looked ten years older. She beat her 
breast with clenched hands. 

“I didn’t mean anything but a joke!” 

“You might sit down now and write the letter 
to Kenelm. I don’t insist.” 

She sped to her over-ornamented writing desk. 
Her pen flew. 

“There!” handing it to Morgan to read. 
“Won’t you forgive me now?” 

“You don’t seem to understand that it is not a 
matter to be decided by forgiveness. I act to 
protect my son. Divorced, in ten years you will 
be a forgotten story.” 

A vision of what life would henceforth be swept 
through Lydia’s soul. Fool! Fool! Fool! To 
have raised herself so high, and by her own 
hands to have pitched herself back into the 


350 


Kenelm’s Desire 


slough! She knew that, once roused, Morgan 
would not again be deceived. She knew that, 
alone, scorned, wretched, she had not strength to 
live in such a way as to earn her pittance from 
his bounty. And she knew he would allow her 
no money for luxuries. She was no longer 
young. She could never win another stake like 
that she had just gambled away. What would 
become of her? Remaining in San Francisco, 
she would be shut off from recent companions 
and would not dare associate with the other 
kind; or at the price of financial ruin. Before 
long she would be in the depths; before many 
years a worn-out old hag, hated by and hating 
every human creature. 

She could not go home. Her father was tot- 
tering on the edge of the grave. His small 
pension would die with him. Mel could not 
keep her. There was no going back to Wake 
Siah. What was the end of the road that sud- 
denly stretched before her feet? 

Elbridge! In her terror she had not realized 
the meaning of losing him. Lydia was still 
human. Her love for Elbridge was the strong, 
healthy, animal instinct of devotion to offspring. 
He was the one pure love of her life. She loved 
him savagely. 

She sprang to Morgan’s side, gripping his arm 
in a convulsion of unbelief. 

‘H can’t leave Elbridge!” she shrieked. Mor- 


A New Deal 


351 


gan laid his hand over her mouth. Steps ap- 
proached. The obsequious tap of the bell-boy 
came once or twice; the knob turned, tenta- 
tively; a card was slipped under the door, face 
upward; mechanically they read the name of the 
wife of a prominent State Senator. Lydia won- 
dered, dully, whether a decent woman’s card 
would ever again be left at her door; and under 
all lay the thought of Elbridge. 

‘‘I can’t give up Elbridge!” she insisted 
hoarsely. “I don’t want your money — I want 
my boy. He’s my boy!” 

^‘God forgive me!” 

He gently undid her cold fingers, went to the 
inner door, got Elbridge, closed and locked the 
door against the maid, and led the child, carrying 
the small grips, toward the corridor. 

The mother leaped forward for a savage caress; 
he held her back, unnoticed by Elbridge, busied 
with the problem of the two little grips in the 
one little hand. 

Lydia seemed sunk in a stupor; but when 
Morgan’s fingers closed around the doorkey she 
threw herself into his path, her face livid, her 
eyes narrowed to a gleam, her lips drawn back 
in a spasm. 

‘‘Morg!” She gasped. ‘^For the sake of the 
lad — just — give me — a new deal!” 

For the first time in their years together he 
saw the unveiled workings of her soul. He saw 


3S2 


Kenelm’s Desire 


strength as well as weakness. He saw the good 
in a last desperate conflict with the power of 
sin. He dared not extinguish in her life the one 
last gleam of decency. He dared not make of 
the right an instrument for her better nature’s 
certain death. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


THE RACE OF THE LETTERS 

D esire lay sobbing on the bed in her dimly 
lighted room. Frau Eda had put her un- 
resistingly into a kimona and had let her 
hair down in two heavy plaits. And there did 
not seem anything else to do. 

‘‘I don^t see why you should grieve so terribly. 
Lydia has written to explain, and Kenelm him- 
self will soon be down.’’ 

‘‘No, he won’t come now, you know he won’t.” 
Desire sobbed out. “He will think there must 
have been some truth in it or Lydia would not 
have dared.” 

“You can convince him when he comes.” 

“But I said he wouldn’t come. I know he 
won’t. Something else will go wrong. I feel it. 
Lydia couldn’t make anything go right if she 
tried. And I don’t believe she tried.” She wept 
heart-brokenly, while her mother pondered what 
to do. “You know when he wrote he was com- 
ing, it was such a little note, and so distant — as 
if — he wasn’t sure whether I would want him. 


353 


354 


Kenelm’s Desire 


But I thought I could make him so welcome 
when he came. And now — he won’t come!” 

She stopped her ears with both hands against 
her mother’s renewed assurances. Her eyes were 
swollen red with weeping. Her sobs were con- 
vulsive. Frau Eda despaired. 

^^We can telegraph,” hopefully at last. 

‘‘Mama! I forbid you! As though I were 
saving myself for him! As though we thought it 
would matter to him! Don’t anybody dareV'^ 

Frau Eda went into the sitting-room to report 
to Dr. Meredith, who had hovered about the 
house all day, inexpressibly shocked at Desire’s 
breakdown. 

“I believe there is a pretty good chance for the 
second letter to reach him first,” he told Frau 
Eda. 

They went to the dim bedside where the slim, 
pathetic figure lay outstretched, face buried in a 
tear-wet pillow. 

“Let me tell you what I have found out,” Dr. 
Meredith said, unclasping the thin, tense fingers 
and spreading the cold hands out in his warm 
palm. “It will take the boat — ” 

“The boat will get in at Victoria at about 
six o’clock Thursday morning,” Desire broke in. 
“The train goes out to Wake Siah at half-past 
nine. He will get it Thursday afternoon at half- 
past one.” 

“Well, the second letter left on the six o’clock 


The Race of the Letters 355 

Overland this evening. It will get to Vancouver 
Thursday morning, in time for the afternoon 
boat for Wake Siah.” 

‘‘That doesn’t get in until four,” despairingly. 

“Then, there is another chance in our favor. 
The weather bulletins say the trades are blowing 
with unusual severity. A good head wind often 
keeps the boat back twelve or twenty-four hours.” 

Desire sat upright, her eyes shining through 
her tears. 

“Mama! We were four days the last time!” 

“Almost exactly a year ago,” Frau Eda corrob- 
orated. 

“But he wouldn’t believe anything Lydia could 
say!” relapsing. 

“Telegraph,” Dr. Meredith suggested. Desire 
stubbornly held out. 

“I can’t throw myself at his head again,” she 
said miserably. 

The doctor, mixing a draught of bromide to be 
administered later, said goodnight. 

“Desirechen — wouldn’t it be well for you to 
write, or for me?” 

“Mother! Have you no pride?” 

“But you believe he still loves you?” 

“Have you forgotten how much we did a year 
ago? I am surprised at you!” 

“All I know, Desirechen, is that I want you to 
be happy. I have ceased to feel pride.” 

“Then don’t write one word.” 


356 


Kenelm’s Desire 


^‘You won’t write to reassure him?” 

‘‘No!” 

“Well,” resignedly, “take your bromide now. 
We will talk about it to-morrow.” 

Desire swallowed the dose, closed her eyes and 
controlled her sobs. Her mother kissed her, 
turned out the light and passed to her own room. 
She returned softly, several times, but Desire lay 
quiet, with closed eyes. At length Frau Eda, 
wearied with anxiety and emotion, retired. 

Desire resolutely kept her eyelids down and 
her breath regular; but the bromide did not in- 
duce sleep. Through the open door she listened 
to her mother’s measured breathing, which cer- 
tainly was not feigned. 

When, at eight the next morning, Frau Eda, 
compunctious at her own deep slumbers, peeped 
into Desire’s room, her daughter slept tranquilly 
on an unruffled pillow. 

“That blessed bromide!” thought Frau Eda. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


OLD sandy’s handsel 

K ENELM lacked no single qualification for 
law-maker, except the crucial one of a 
white skin. 

The Union leaders, every man of whom was 
Kenelm’s warm personal friend, acknowledged 
that if the disqualification of race were removed 
they could ask no better man to return in their 
interest; but they feared, in spite of all to be said 
in his favor, that when it should come to a choice 
between Kenelm and sturdy Old Sandy, the cau- 
tious majority of the voters would turn to the 
familiar and benevolent white autocrat. 

Old Sandy’s canvass was an eminently digni- 
fied and courteous affair. Each of the other 
parties (Lanahan or straight Liberal and Fraser 
— Independent Liberal) realized that the Con- 
servatives might have it in their power to decide 
the fortune of the day. 

Lanahan, with no hope of Conservative sup- 
port, turned his attention to fomenting discord 
between them and Kenelm. The Independents 


357 


358 


Kenelm’s Desire 


met with more than one repulse in their efforts to 
form a coalition with the potent minority, and 
finally relinquished all hope of help from that 
quarter. 

Angus, lately made cashier of the bank in 
which he had served a ten-year apprenticeship, 
had from the first been an ardent supporter of 
his cousin-in-law’s candidacy. He had so worked 
on his father that that stiff-backed, dyed-in-the- 
wool old Liberal had consented to throw in his 
lot with the Independents; had even moved 
Kenelm’s nomination and had prevailed on Mr. 
Milner to do the seconding; thus establishing for 
the candidate of the hot-headed youngsters a 
backing of profound respectability. 

Mr. Milner’s action was the biggest surprise of 
all. People wondered how he dared antagonize 
Old Sandy, who had been ever liberal to the 
debt-encumbered parish. Mrs. Milner was awed 
by the unexpectedness of the event, and by her 
husband’s gently persistent silence, into unex- 
pected acquiescence. Her bewildered submission 
went so far that when Mr. Milner proposed giv- 
ing a congratulatory dinner to Kenelm, she not 
only uttered no remonstrance, but telephoned an 
invitation to Chief and Auntie Fraser to be 
present at the banquet. 

It took place at the very height of the contest 
and was duly reported in the society column of 
the Liberal Independent^ a small sheet started for 


Old Sandy’s Handsel 


3S9 


the political emergency by Maddox, spurred on 
by the indefatigable Jess, and supported finan- 
cially by the Native Sons and the bank of which 
the elder McLeod was president. 

On the evening of the dinner Auntie Fraser 
donned, with inward trepidation, her new black 
broadcloth tailor gown, set ofi by a modest silken 
blouse; hoping Mrs. Milner (with whom she had 
long been on intimate but never before on social 
terms) would not notice that she was dressed in 
her best. 

‘Mt will look as if I was too set up about Ken- 
nie, I am afraid,” she confided to the Chief after 
they started for the rectory. “But I just thought 
I’d dress up a bit, anyway, and she may think 
what she likes,” with gentle assertiveness. 

Her heart failed her more and more as she 
neared the house. Mrs. Milner’s stern simplicity 
of attire was too familiar to her guest to leave 
her at ease; and the dinner was to be a small 
affair; herself, the Chief, the elder McLeod and 
Kenelm the only guests. 

A maid received them and Mrs. Fraser had 
time to remove her natty jacket and feel more 
comfortable in her reduced finery before the hos- 
tess appeared — in the full splendor of trained 
white satin (many seasons back in construction) 
low-cut corsage, bare arms (thin), long white 
gloves, court coiffure, aigrette and pearls. 

The Chief’s eyes twinkled as he promptly 


360 


Kenelm’s Desire 


threw himself into the conversational breach; his 
wife being incapacitated by this metamorphosis 
of her quondam missionary associate. 

Kenelm’s entrance helped things out, but even 
the courtesies of the frugal dinner-table, to which 
they almost immediately adjourned, failed to 
banish her diffidence. 

She confided to her husband when at last they 
were safely on the road home, ‘'I couldn’t have 
talked to her, not to save my life. And just to 
think how many times we have gone down to the 
Indian village together, and the times I’ve passed 
her on her wheel in her dingy old skirt and her 
tidy blouse, with the Bible open before her on 
the handle-bar!” 

Kenelm, jubilant over the reception his preten- 
sions met with among the Liberals of the remainder 
of the province, was in his element speechmaking, 
blessed with so tempting a target as Fighting Bob. 

He stepped on every platform in an infectiously 
merry mood. In his mind he conceded that he 
should fall a full hundred short, owing to Old 
Sandy’s obduracy. But he felt that his day 
would surely come, before many years. He wel- 
comed this campaign as preliminary training. 
The sharp edges of incongruity would be worn 
down by this struggle; the next time the Union 
would not be so timorous. 

Kenelm’ s early developed powers of invective 
and sarcasm had an inviting subject and full 


Old Sandy^s Handsel 361 

sway; they should have won him hundreds of 
votes, were votes ever won by speechmaking. 

However : 

By six o’clock on the morning of election day 
bands were to be seen parading the streets; gaily 
decorated carryalls starting for the suburbs to 
convey dilatory voters to the polls; groups on 
every corner forming, dissolving, buzzing as 
busily as so many ineffective swarms of bees 
that have lost their queen. 

At eight the polls opened. 

The Canadian ballot being surrounded by 
every possible safeguard the law can devise, being 
guaranteed secret as the grave or the Blue Lodge, 
the next step, logically, would have been for each 
voter to fill out his ballot and then return to his 
home or his business to await with serenity the 
result of the count, which could not be announced 
before evening, the polls closing at four. 

Strange to say, that did not happen. Stranger 
still, after the first, demonstrative delegations on 
either side had performed their civic duty as 
aggressively as possible, the groups formed more 
busily than before. 

This time they buzzed with a note of anxiety. 
Old Sandy’s name was in every mouth. He had 
appeared early and announced that he was no 
longer a candidate; had voted imperturbably, 
and had gone away, deaf to the importunities 
showered on him from every side. 


362 


Kenelm’s Desire 


What did it portend? Had he stepped out of 
the race to work for either of the other candi- 
dates? Was it to help Kenelm, or to feed fat the 
ancient grudge? 

Lanahan^s putative majority had dwindled, of 
late days. He might need the Conservative vote 
to pull through. 

Old Sandy did no electioneering. There was 
no appearance of concerted action on the part of 
the other Conservative voters. They all voted, 
demurely; giving no inkling of their choice. 

For the first time Kenelm felt anxiety. Up to 
this moment he had not considered that he had a 
chance to win; suddenly he was tormented by 
late-roused uncertainty and ambition. 

The prize, dangling unexpectedly within reach, 
seemed, all at once, utterly desirable. The Chief 
and Jimmie were even more excited than he, and 
the whole corps of Sons worked with frenzied 
zeal to catch the floating vote. Lanahan and his 
supporters were not behind in energy and the 
fight waxed hotter with the sun. 

Never had there been so exciting an election 
day in Wake Siah. The old, the sick, the halt, 
rode in state to the polls. It was said that not 
ten votes out of the accredited one thousand and 
twenty-seven were lacking when the polls closed 
at four and the candidates left the field. 

Even the iron nerve of Lanahan would not 
stead him through the necessary hour or so of 


Old Sandy^s Handsel 


363 


counting and tabulating the votes. He shut him- 
self up over a bottle and a box of cigars. Ken- 
elm left word to bring the news to the bastion, 
his campaign headquarters, then went off for a 
walk in the woods. He could await the outcome 
with more philosophy under the green shade of 
the firs. But the Chief betook himself to Mr. 
Alexander. 

When Kenelm, on his return, neared the bas- 
tion he saw that the irregular little street leading 
up to the historic building, and also the small 
space before the door, was crowded. 

Captain Ken!’’ the crowd shouted as they 
caught sight of him. His boyish title had been 
revived during the fervency of the campaign. 

^^Who is — who is — who is heV'^ 

Kenelm Fraser — M.P.PF^ 
tore past his ears. 

He raised his hat to the cheers, then dodged 
lustily to get into the bastion on his own legs. 
Meanwhile certain curious members of the as- 
semblage propounded inquiries as to what was 
the matter with Captain Ken, and certain others 
vociferated the information that he was all right! 

The Chief and Jimmie stood to receive him 
at the door, where he turned to make his little 
speech of acknowledgment; then detailed Jimmie 
to take them off for refreshments while he went 
inside to receive the official communication of 
his election. 


3^4 


Kenelm^s Desire 


The president of the Union was there, ready 
with the extended hand of fellowship once more, 
and everyone gave a different version of the cause 
of the unexpected victory. 

‘‘Well, Old Sandy says to me, he says,’’ the 
Chief was at last prevailed upon to vouchsafe, 
“‘I am free to confess that I, individually, voted 
for Kenelm. What the other Conservatives did 
I have, of course, no means of knowing.’” 

“Voted for him, too, to a man!” someone 
interrupted. 

“I says,” the Chief resumed, “ ‘But your vote 
swung the rest of them — eh?’ ‘I’m afraid you 
overestimate my influence,’ he says, as cool as 
you want to see. ‘I am gratified that my one 
vote has given such satisfaction. Tell Ken,’ he 
says, grinnin’ a little, sly-like, ‘that if he had 
wanted my vote enough to ask for it himself, he 
might have had the promise of it any time. I’ve 
never had the chance to give him that handsel I 
promised,’ says he, ‘so I thought this might be 
considered a good opportunity,’ he says.” 

“The Halboard case was handsel enough,” 
Angus broke in. 

“Well, that wasn’t a free gift,” the Chief con- 
tended. “That couldn’t nowise be called a 
handsel. But this, being Ken’s first venture in 
politics, was the place for a political handsel; 
which mayn’t be precisely what he intended at 
first, but it’ll do — eh, Ken?” 


Old Sandy’s Handsel 365 

‘‘He’s kept his promise with interest, for hav- 
ing waited so long.” 

Jimmie appeared with the day’s mail and sev- 
eral telegrams. The Vancouver mail had come 
in. Were both letters there? If not, which had 
been delayed? 

“I’ll look over this first, then join the rest of 
you at the Union,” Kenelm said, opening a tele- 
gram at the top of the formidable heap. It was 
from Victoria headquarters. He drew a blank 
toward him. “I will be down in half an hour.” 

The men left him to solitude and triumphant 
messages. 

Just beneath the first telegram, consequently 
the second to his hand, lay an envelope directed 
in Lydia’s bold script. 

“What’s happened to Lydia?” he thought 
with some concern. He was much too happy to 
remember ancient enmity. He paused half-way 
in the telegram he was inditing to Desire; Vic- 
toria was not to have first place. He picked up 
the bulky envelope. Perhaps it contained some- 
thing he could mention in Desire’s message. He 
tore it open. 

A folded double-column of newspaper fell out 
on the table. 

But half understanding, he read the effusive 
thing through, although the words, after the first 
announcement, made no impression on his brain. 
Then he folded it up gently and put it in his left 


366 


Kenelm’s Desire 


breast-pocket. He leaned over the table a mo- 
ment, blindly shuffling the remaining missives. 
None other bore the United States postmark. 

Selecting the uppermost, he opened, carefully 
read, and laboriously answered it. Then another; 
and another; with the same peculiar deliberation. 
His hand was always on the next letter or mes- 
sage before his eyes had left its predecessor. 
There was no break in the chain of thought; he 
dared not break it: just outside the doorway of 
his brain hovered an idea so dreadful that he 
must give no opportunity for its intrusion. 

It really was not true — he knew that. When he 
should take the time to think it out he would know 
it was not true; because it was unbelie veable. 
Therefore it was best not to let the thought enter. 

Jimmie came back after two hours, to tell him 
a special meeting of the* Union Parliamentary 
Committee awaited his presence. 

He handed the finished missives to his cousin, 
arose slowly, with his hand against his left breast 
— there was a dull ache somewhere beneath his 
hand — which he could pluck out and destroy — 
when he dared. 

Jimmie scanned him keenly. Pulling out his 
pocket flask he held it to Kenelm’s lips. 

^^ThaPs right, old chap,’’ approvingly, as Ken- 
elm gulped down a greedy draught of the burn- 
ing stuff. ‘Wou look knocked up a bit. There’s 
nothing like it. Now, come along.” 


Old Sandy’s Handsel 367 

The grayness faded from Kenelm’s face. His 
eyes glittered. 

‘‘Yes, come along!” he said with acerbity, as 
though Jimmie had been the laggard. “I’ve 
work enough to keep me out of bed all night. 
All night — don’t you think?” anxiously. 

“Oh, I don’t know as there is any such 
rush,” Jimmie replied uneasily. “Brace up! I’ll 
stand by.” 

“Well, this meeting will take till dinnertime — ” 
feverishly, “no — it’s after dinnertime now. Well, 
after this meeting is over, we will have a full 
meeting of the Union. We’ll put it on the bulle- 
tin board. Everybody is out for a night of it, 
anyway.” 

“Why, that’s what they’re talking about. 
They wanted to know if you felt like meeting 
the boys to-night or if you thought you’d better 
wait.” 

“Oh, we’ll have it now,” Kenelm replied more 
naturally. He had dropped his hand from his 
coat-breast. The letter no longer pressed upon 
his heart. He decided that it was not there; 
that it was not true; that he had dreamed. 
Anyway, he could not possibly take time to 
verify it to-night, there was so much to do! 

“A night of it — Jim, old boy!” he cried bois- 
terously, leading the way out. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


THE heart’s desire 

O NE idea, not at first a purpose, but in- 
exorable from its inception, had lurked 
beneath the surface preoccupations of 
election evening; had grown to monstrous pro- 
portions during the few hours of the latter part 
of the night which, in spite of himself, Kenelm 
had been condemned to face alone. Even then, 
he had managed, by sternest exercise of will, not 
to think. He shrank from the sharp agony of 
thought. But the Purpose grew, unformulated. 

At daybreak he found himself consulting the 
chart of the tides. Hours yet before he should 
need to go. 

He spent them all in the exhilarating company 
of his political allies, triumphing openly in the 
fall of Fighting Bob who, too, was in the street, 
blustering undaunted in the face of his success- 
drunken adversaries. 

One call Kenelm wished to pay; that on Mr. 
Alexander. With true political caution he in- 
vited the Union president and one or two other 


368 


The Heart’s Desire 369 

prominent Lanahanites to accompany him, be- 
sides a goodly showing of his own adherents. 

The visit was formal in every particular; but 
it pleased Kenelm to be able to establish even 
this degree of amity with his old friend, before 
— from there on he still refused to think. 

Old Sandy was in his urbanest mood. 

believe I voice the sentiment of my party, 
gentlemen, when I state that we Conservatives 
did not cast our votes for Mr. Fraser, so to 
speak, but against Robert Lanahan; whose re- 
turn to parliament, after the trickery of which 
he has been guilty, would have been a public 
calamity. We are not to be considered in any 
sense as a portion of the Liberal party, and we 
sincerely hope that no future occasion may arise 
when we shall be pushed into electing a Liberal 
candidate. However, I’m free to admit,” passing 
generous glasses of his smokiest Scotch as he 
spoke, ‘‘we are pleased that in the unfortunate 
emergency we had a man to fall back on who 
personally has our respect and confidence to the 
degree we are able to accord to our esteemed 
representative and fellow-townsman — Kenelm 
Fraser!” 

The toast was drunk uproariously, followed by 
cheers for Old Sandy. Kenelm arose, with re- 
filled glass, to respond. 

“Gentlemen,” he began, his head swimming 
for an instant at the thought that this was the 


370 


Kenelm’s Desire 


last time the familiar and formal address would 
ever pass his lips, “I ask you to empty your 
glasses to the toast of ‘Mr. Alexander’s handsel!’” 

“Good luck go with you, lad,” Old Sandy 
said, holding out his hand as Kenelm, last of the 
delegation, took his leave. “We’ll have many’s 
the scrabble with each other yet, I fancy; but I 
hope this is not the last glass of Scotch we’ll 
empty in each other’s company, between whiles 
— eh?” 

The newly elected M.P.P. (Member of the 
Provincial Parliament) left his friends at the 
door of the bastion and escaped into his canoe 
alone. He passed the Custom House and sent 
up his familiar call; Auntie Fraser shrilled back 
and waved a beckoning hand. He saluted gaily 
with his paddle as he rounded northward through 
the Gap. 

Once in the Gulf he settled calmly to think. 
To his surprise it was all thought out, ready 
for him. 

The most important preliminary had been that 
no one should suspect. He owed that considera- 
tion to his father and mother and also to the men 
who had fought his hard campaign. 

His known recklessness would explain all. He 
amused himself with imaginings of the different 
men who would boast with shaken heads of the 
times they had told him he would make one too 
many ventures, yet. His stemming of the tide 


The Heart's Desire 


371 


at the Narrows, three years ago, had grown 
into a legend. What more natural than to 
fail in a foolhardy attempt to parallel that 
earlier achievement? 

It was there too, he had first told Desire, in 
words, that he loved her. 

He recalled her to bear him company on this 
last voyage. Closing his eyes as he paddled, or 
bending forward to shut out the sight of the 
ballast-laden bow, he could easily believe her 
present. 

He had the actor’s power of self-deception. 
The two hours of his downward trip passed 
swiftly in the sweetest dream of companionship. 
He did not need to recall what she had said, to 
supply conversation. He knew so well what she 
would say at any given time, that question and 
retort flew as unflaggingly between the shadowy 
occupant of the bow and the dreamer in the stern 
as ever in the days of their sweet intimacy. He 
went over with her the exciting events of the 
campaign; told many a droll story of the strug- 
gle at its height and confided his satisfaction at 
Old Sandy’s attitude. 

He must have paddled sturdily, for the roar of 
the rapids broke on his ears as a surprise. In- 
voluntarily he raised his head, but dropped back 
from the shock of his loneliness into the dream of 
opium sweetness. 

He felt the tug of the tide quite strongly before 


372 


Kenelm’s Desire 


he reached the entrance; had the real Desire 
been with him, no consideration would' have per- 
suaded him into its jaws. But with the dream- 
Desire he could go fearlessly to the world’s end. 
When the velvety jolt assured him that he was 
well within the gates, he raised his head again, to 
scan the steep bank, at the top of which he could 
spy the elfin bower. He was not unhappy. 

‘‘What an easy thing — to leave the world!” 
he pondered. “Why do so many stay on to 
suffer? It is not fear of pain. People will face 
the most excruciating pain to avoid a painless 
death.” 

He smiled to recognize the projecting, horn- 
shaped rock which recalled their discussion of 
Leaping Elk. The Elk was now father of a 
family and no longer aspirant to terpsichorean 
honors. 

“He would be too fat for it, now,” Kenelm 
decided. “He’ll have to take his place with the 
old bucks, by the next potlach, sure!” 

And ever he thought of Desire. 

“I suppose it’s cowardice,” he told himself. 
“I could live always without her, if I had to; 
but — another man’s wife! Well, I haven’t the 
grit to stay where I can know about it. That’s 
all.” 

He fell to wondering whether he should know 
about it, in the other world. 

“Anyway, I can’t come back and do him an 


The Heart’s Desire 


373 


injury,” he argued. “If I stayed here I’d be 
sure to; and that would wreck her happiness. I 
mustn’t do that.” 

Back of his precautions against suspicion was 
the thought of the pain for Desire should she 
feel she had driven him to it. 

He had turned at the eastern exit and was 
working his way with difficulty back to the edge 
of the whirlpool. He watched the little eddies 
wheel and break against the side of his canoe. 
The whirlpool lay sleepily turning in the sun. 
He might abandon his paddle just here. Noth- 
ing more would be needed. It must appear acci- 
dental; he had been observed the other time; 
the same thing might easily happen again; it 
behooved him to be cautious. 

But from this far back he could not get sight 
of the elfin bower. He tightened his hold on the 
blade and sped a few strokes. The tide was 
rushing strongly. 

“It’s settled, anyway,” he thought with grim 
pleasure. “I can’t well turn without getting into 
the grip of the whirlpool, and nothing less than 
steam could pass the entrance now.” 

He pushed the canoe a few feet forward, hold- 
ing himself steady for a moment, that he might 
feast his eyes on the nook of vanished happiness. 
Out ahead, the great green hill of waveless water 
bore down upon him steadily. He fought its 
inertia a short space, from sheer joy in the exer- 


374 


Kenelm^s Desire 


tion, drawing close to the guardian wave-roll. 
Glancing warily around he stumbled forward as 
if he had accidentally lost his balance; when he 
recovered, his hands were empty. He threw 
them upward in simulated despair. 

He sat entranced. The paddle had gone back 
instantly, was now circling slowly in the outer 
rim of the whirlpool. 

‘^That would make Desire giddy,’’ he thought, 
half smiling. 

The bow began gently to deflect to the left. 
He looked up for a final farewell to the fairy 
bower — and then — with a mighty rush — the 
love of life — sheer life! swept back upon him. 

It was not fear; it was not despair; it was not 
hope of future happiness or dread of future pain; 
it was the great primal instinct of life — life at 
any cost; the instinct that holds us all to the 
earth with a force to which the law of gravitation 
is a bauble for children; the power that binds us 
to our griefs and our cares and our wrongs in the 
face of the easily opened doors of exit on every 
hand ; the great negative power of nature — the 
instinct of self-preservation. 

Kenelm did not reverse his previous decision; 
he forgot it — along with his griefs, his wrongs, 
his anticipations of peace. He, the earth-born, 
threw his whole intellect into the duel with 
earth’s fell power to destroy, as singly as the stag 
had done on that day of blessed memory. 


The Heart’s Desire 


37S 


He stood erect. The stone ballast in the bow 
steadied its motion and, properly distributed, 
would give him firmer footing, also a few inches 
advantage in height. He knew what he was 
about to do, and how to seize the best chance of 
success. 

He quickly drew several big flat rocks back 
toward the stern, disposed them in a compact 
heap, mounted, waited for the precise moment 
when the stern should swing nearest the project- 
ing rock, clenched his fists, bent sharply at 
ankles, knees, hips, elbows and neck (backward), 
and at the exact moment shot fiercely upward, 
like an arrow from its bow. 

The canoe dashed from under his feet straight 
to the perimeter of the great whirlpool, faltered, 
nosed reluctantly at the insistent water and 
entered the circle of destruction. 

Kenelm hung panting, crushed against the 
sloping bank, both arms clasping the rock, his 
feet braced upon a tiny ledge of shale. A foot 
beyond reach of his outstretched arm he found, 
when strength for observation returned, a tre- 
mendous, denuded root. If he could find foot- 
hold and push upward, he might get it. But the 
friable rock shattered down at every advance of 
his foot. He decided to remove his shoes. 

He cautiously shifted his weight to the right 
side, hung by the right arm and drew up his left 
foot. The knotted strings were wet, but yielded 


376 


Kenelm^s Desire 


to patient work. He slipped off shoe and sock 
carefully. Readjusting himself, he freed the 
other foot, to find his flexible toes a great im- 
provement over heavy leather shoes. 

By degrees he divested himself of coat and 
waistcoat, transferring his watch to a trouser 
pocket. Papers and purse he had disposed of 
before leaving home. He released himself from 
the bondage of braces, collar and cravat, loosened 
his shirt at the neck and felt confidence in his 
climbing powers increase with the partial freeing 
of his muscles. 

A certain enjoyment mingled with his anxiety. 
Now for the tree root! 

With his toes, which had supported him during 
his preparations, he searched for and helped to 
make larger a support the required distance 
higher. He fastened one foot securely, released 
the corresponding hand and the other foot, drew 
himself upward into a crouching attitude, tested 
the firmness of his new foothold, slipped the free 
hand above as far as it would go along the bank, 
released the other hand and made a swift shove 
upward; his whole body, including his face, 
pressed flat against the rugged surface. He caught 
around the root with the bent first joints of three 
fingers. He stood poised on one foot, clinging by 
the tips of these fingers, until he was able to pull 
up and extend the other arm, which, being the 
right, was a half-inch longer, and got firm grip. 


The Heart’s Desire 


377 


Both hands well around the root, it was no 
great trick for a sailor to draw himself up until 
his feet rested on the rock of his first support, 
and later, on the projecting root, itself; two feet 
above, the mouth of a rabbit’s burrow had given 
excellent handhold. 

He could rest a bit, now, to wipe the blood and 
dirt from his cheek. The remainder of the ascent 
was more practicable, but longer. The ground 
sloped just gently enough to make crawling pos- 
sible, to an Indian. Kenelm would need staying 
power to reach the top. He did not start until 
his breath came evenly and his muscles had 
abated somewhat of their feeling of exhaustion. 

The earth was burning hot; the sun beat down 
until even his seasoned head succumbed to its 
dizzying effect. But he went up steadily, inch 
by inch. The soil, loose rock and pebbles slipped 
treacherously from under him more than once, 
losing him here an inch of toilsomely acquired 
advantage, there a foot. 

He went steadily on, clinging close to the sur- 
face with the whole extent of his body when these 
accidents threatened. At last, none too soon for 
his endurance, his head rose above the edge of 
the bluff. 

His heart beat like a drum, the red swam be- 
fore his eyes, his rapid breath tore with excruciat- 
ing pain in and out of his laboring chest. He 
felt a tuft of grass against his cheek; he turned 


378 


Kenelm’s Desire 


and bit it, to convince himself of its reality, for 
he could not see. He fastened his strong white 
teeth into the bole of a tough fir sapling against 
which his groping hand had struck, and hung on 
doggedly while he advanced his arms, one after 
the other, over the edge to search for firmer 
support. His hands moved fruitlessly over the 
smooth rock. The sapling would not hold his 
whole weight, at least for long, but he must try. 
Getting what support he could from spreading 
his hands on the bare ground, he bit harder into 
the sapling, released his feet, hung for a moment 
by his teeth while he drew up his knees, his feet 
groping for a foothold; found, it was just three 
inches — but enough — and but just in time. He 
pushed himself boldly over the edge and grasped 
a stout manzanita. He hung to recover breath 
before, with a mighty gathering up of his ulti- 
mate reserve, he swung himself clear of the bank 
and dropped senseless among the curved green 
feathers of the fern. 

When consciousness came back he lay with 
closed eyelids, striving to realize what it was he 
had done. Thought proved fatiguing; he opened 
his eyes. 

Oh, the earth! Oh, the dear, beautiful, green- 
clad earth! He pressed his cheek rapturously 
against her warm brown bosom, where it showed 
strong and generous beneath the lace-work of its 
scanty vesture. 


The Heart’s Desire 


379 


He lay inert for hours, basking in the sunshine; 
in the blue of the sky, the purple of the sea, the 
greenness of the mountains and the fragrant 
darkness of the ground. The songs of the birds, 
the shy rustling of the wild creatures, the sweep 
of the winds, the hoarse roaring of the wave-roll 
brought exquisite tears to his eyes. And he had 
thought to leave it all ! He — the earth-born ! 

A rhythmic beating grew upon the subdued 
murmur of the wilderness. It was the afternoon 
boat from Victoria. 

It was sunset before the boat, Kenelm aboard, 
reached Wake Siah. Reclad by the captain, he 
went direct to the Native Sons’ room at the bas- 
tion. The Chief had been in shortly before, 
leaving the day’s mail. 

Shuffling over the letters, Kenelm came upon 
another envelope addressed in Lydia’s hand. He 
started as though stung. The bitterness of his 
grief rolled over him afresh. He was sane once 
more, but he clenched his hands in the effort to 
be calm. This he had come back to face! 

He lighted the wax taper which stood beside 
the official seal of the Native Sons, picked up 
the envelope by the extreme tip of one corner 
and held it in the flame until it was consumed. 

He sat down heavily, worn out with suffering 
and fatigue. Just beside his right hand lay a 
square, creamy envelope. When, startled, he 


380 


Kenelm’s Desire 


bent over to assure himself, he saw that the 
handwriting was Desire’s. 

He dared not pick it up, but bent nearer to 
observe it narrowly. It lay very flat. Yes, that 
was it. Desire had sent her announcement cards. 
He touched it softly. There was no resiliency as 
of folded paper. A mere card. 

Well, it was kind of her. She wished him to 
know it from herself, and she understood the 
uselessness of words. 

He advanced his hand to take it up, intending 
to burn it also. 

He could not. Her writing was too dear. It 
had brought him too much joy in the past to re- 
ceive violence from him now. He would put it 
out of sight until some day when he could read it 
without this miserable gnawing at his heart. He 
spread both arms in a circle around the white 
square, gazing hungrily at the tremulous script 
of his name. 

How sweet she was — oh, God ! how sweet ! 

He laid his cheek down on the dear, almost 
illegible words; she must have been nervous and 
grieved, indeed, to write like that. What was it 
she said once — about her writing ? — His eyes 
closed. The thought brought before him that 
meeting after their first long separation — at 
Victoria. 

Worn out by the strain of thirty-six sleepless 
hours of elation and grief, soothed by the memory 


The Heart's Desire 381 

of the happier time, he drifted into half-slumber; 
one of those evanescent mists of sleep, instantane- 
ous in their brevity, but in which one passes 
through whole epics between the drawing of two 
breaths. 

In his dream he lived over the remembered 
walk from the Victoria wharf. She stopped to 
pluck the rose. 

^^Fve kept mine five years. Can you do as 
well?” 

If ever you should want me . it will sum- 
mon me from the ends of the earth.” 

The dream passed, but the spell lingered. 
How real it had been! The sound of her voice 
— the very fragrance of the rose 1 

Strange that one can dream a fragrance . . . 
and be half awake . . . and the fragrance will 
not go . . . 

He sprang up, staring at the letter with bated 
breath. He bent over it — picked it up and 
pressed it close to his nostrils. He held it 
against the candle-flame. His hands shook so 
violently that it was in pieces before he knew. 

From out the broken envelope there fell a 
faded rose. 


AND THEN 


I am worrying about/^ Alice 
Hallam said, ^‘is, how is she going 
to present him to her friends?’’ 

Miss Hallam, on a shopping expedition to San 
Francisco, had telephoned for Dr, Meredith to 
come and talk the matter over with her; Desire’s 
engagement to Mr. Kenelm Fraser, M.P.P., hav- 
ing been announced, briefly, in that morning’s 
paper. 

^‘Of course I am going over this afternoon to 
be polite about it — but I don’t quite know how 
to treat the situation. How is she going to intro- 
duce him to people?” 

believe she has no intention of introducing 
him, formally.” 

‘‘Now, I shouldn’t think that of her. But 
then, I couldn’t have believed she would be so 
crazy as to marry an Indian, in the first place. 
But I’d not sneak out of it that way.” 

“ Oh,” smiling slyly, “ she isn’t dodging the issue. 
The fact is, he has already been introduced.” 

“How? Where? I heard nothing of it.” 

“Lady Pelley — you know her?” 


382 


And Then — 383 

“Oh, yes. The funny old dame with the 
diamond rings.’’ 

“Fraser let her know when he left, up there, 
and she sent him an introduction to the British 
Consul-General here; at the same time she wrote 
personally to the Consul’s wife, who is an old 
acquaintance of hers, asking her to look after 
him. Desire has known the consulate people for 
some time, through Lady Pelley, also. So the 
Consul entertained him and Frau Eda and Desire 
at a big dinner. Since then he has been the rage 
in the British Colony. 

“It seems they were all interested in the fight 
to get Dunlap, late Lieutenant-Governor of 
British Columbia, removed. You know how 
clannish the British are. There is a close con- 
nection between Victoria and the British resi- 
dents in San Francisco. Well, just at present, 
Fraser is eminently the man to know.” 

Miss Hallam drew a long breath. 

“Think of it! Tell me — how does he appear? 
Is he a good deal of a gawk?” 

“No more so than Gonzales. In fact, he is 
more popular and more at ease than Gonzales 
has ever been, with all his grand air. Did you 
ever see an Indian abashed?” 

“To tell the truth, I never did.” 

“They are apt to be silent, but if they do talk, 
it is with the air of conferring a favor.” 

“Is Mr. Fraser like that?” 


3^4 


Kenelm’s Desire 


^‘Oh, no. But you take a full-blood Alaskan, 
descendant of a line of chiefs running back to 
before the Flood, with family silver and a family 
crest dating to unimaginable antiquity, bring 
him up among British surroundings, imbue him 
with the true British pig-headedness about the 
empire on which the sun never sets, give him 
a seat in parliament, and you can’t expect him 
to represent the class who base their claim to 
the inheritance of the earth on New Testament 
specifications.” 

‘‘He must be horrid!” 

“He is pronounced charming. He is one of 
the cleverest after-dinner speakers I ever listened 
to, for a young man. You know the British ex- 
pect that in their public men.” 

“Then, socially, he is a success? How 
strange!” 

“Oh, I don’t know. When I was in New 
York last winter I met a full-blood Apache 
lawyer. He’s coining money at his profession, 
but more than that, he is a howling society swell 
— and a down-to-the-ground good fellow, be- 
sides.” 

“I wonder if I shall come down with it after 
I have been exposed!” 

“‘FraseritisP’ I know of no sure preventive. 
It seems epidemic.” 

Desire, that same afternoon, after bidding Miss 


And Then — 385 

Hallam an efifusive farewell, returned, choking 
with laughter, to Kenelm and the tea-table. 

“She fears you may not be demonstrative 
enough! And she bothered me to death about 
the wedding,’’ ruefully. 

“Perhaps it would have been a good plan for 
me to keep her here,” Kenelm replied seriously. 
Frau Eda moved in protest. “You know I 
must go back this coming week for the opening 
of the extra session they have decided to call. 
Then I’ve my work cut out for me. If we are 
not married this week it may not be possible for 
several months.” 

“That would not give time for her trousseau,” 
Frau Eda remarked decisively. 

The reinstated dimples went out of Kenelm’ s 
cheeks. “But we have waited so long,” he 
pleaded. “I can’t bear the idea of going back 
without her. Something would be sure to hap- 
pen. Desire, you don’t want to wait months?” 

Desire looked troubled. 

“I can’t bear to lose her so soon,” Frau Eda 
said. 

“But you have had her such a long time!” 

“But you will have her such a long time!” 

“You’ll have her, too, just the same. We can 
get married without a trousseau. I’m sure De- 
sire never had a frock that wasn’t beautiful 
enough to be married in. Then we will go 
to the hotel in Victoria for this summer ses- 


386 Kenelm^s Desire 

sion. As soon as you have arranged matters 
here and rented the house you can come. After- 
ward we will go to Wake Siah, pick out our 
site and build our house. That seems such a 
sensible way.’^ 

Frau Eda looked at Desire. A revulsion of 
feeling swept over her. The dreaded thing was 
at last about to happen. Desire was to marry 
this Indian and give up everything for his sake. 
What an unbearable sacrifice! Something must 
happen — at the last moment — to prevent ! Per- 
haps, given more time, the infatuation might yet 
pass away. The mother must work to gain 
time. It was impossible 1 Desire could not — 
should not marry him! 

Desire raised her lashes, looking straight into 
her mother’s eyes. Ah, the shy happiness of that 
quickly averted gaze! Tears rose to Frau Eda’s 
eyes. She impulsively pressed a kiss on Ken- 
elm’s anxious forehead and said, softly, ^‘My son, 
it is for you to decide.” 

Well, he did then just what he threatened Lady 
Pelley he would do in the matter of Frau Eda; 
but from gratitude. 

Frau Eda arose hurriedly. 

‘‘I am going over to the city immediately; I 
can get there before the stores close if I 
catch the next boat. I can manage a wed- 
ding gown. I do want to see her in veil and 
gown,” wistfully. 


And Then — 387 

“So do I/’ Kenelm replied, putting his hands 
behind him to insure proper decorum. 

“Mama doesn’t know yet how it all came 
about,” Desire confided to his coat-collar, some 
moments later. “I haven’t had the courage to 
tell her. She offered to write! Think of it! And 
I wouldn’t let her. I waited until she was asleep, 
then I slipped out and ran to the corner post-box 
with it. I was so afraid she would hear me that 
I went all the way and back — bare-footed.” 

He opened his pocket-book and displayed the 
token, now in a dilapidated condition. Desire 
put it daintily to her nose. 

can’t detect any perfume,” she said doubt- 
fully. “It has just a dried-up sort of smell, to 
me.” 

‘^But you know the keenness of all my senses,” 
he argued. “Don’t you remember how you used 
to amuse yourself testing the distance at which I 
could see and hear? I warrant you have never 
noticed the fragrance of your hands. And yet, 
I never said goodbye to you that I did not, as 
soon as out of sight, raise my hand to inhale the 
fragrance of your touch.” 

Desire looked perturbed. 

“I do scatter rose-petals in my glove-box,” 
suggestively, “but I thought the odor disappeared 
almost as soon as they were exposed to the air.” 

“Perhaps that is it,” he made reply. “I have 
never pretended to account for your sweetness.” 


388 


Kenelm’s Desire 


There is one thing I should like to know,” 
he remembered to say, when conversation again 
became translatable, ‘‘that is, what you said to 
Lady Pelley to win her over to our side. She 
told me to ask you.” 

Desire sprang up, one flame from neck to 
brow. 

“Oh — isn’t Lady Pelley horrid!” she ex- 
claimed. 



/ 




A Vigorous Tale of a Nevada Mining Camp 


THE SAGE BRUSH 
PARSON 

By A. B. WARD 

390 pages. 12mo. Decorated Cloth. $1.50 


Full of vigorous and vivid pictures. An exceptionally 
readable and effective story. There is more strong and 
good dramatic substance to it than to any story that we 
have read in a long while. — New York Sun. 

The story is powerfully told, with strong, vigorous 
touches filled with the atmosphere of the wild, free West, 
and so alive and vital that it carries conviction. — Phila- 
delphia Telegraph. 

Characteristic Western humor and yet more character- 
istic Western pathos are plentiful in the tale. The at- 
mosphere is true to the life and the hero is a sincere 
portrayal. — Chicago Tribune. 

A good, breezy story of Western life. A. B. Ward shows 
rare familiarity with the prairie regions of Nevada and 
the people who inhabit them. — St. Louis Globe-Democrat. 

Whoever wants a “ rattling ” good story of mining life, 
color, and customs, faithful to fact and strenuous action, 
with strong and forceful character sketching, with a close 
and appreciative understanding of the phases of life in 
the gulches twenty-five years ago, will find all these.— 
Brooklyn Standard-Union. 


LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers 
254 Washington Street, Boston 


A Distinctive Modem Romance 


MAID OF ATHEJ^S 

By LAFAYETTE McLAWS 

Author of “ When the Land Was Young etc. 

12mo. Decorated Cloth, $1.30 


A romance of great charm dealing with Lord Byron’s 
career in Greece, his poems “Thyrza” and “Maid of 
Athens” furnishing the talented novelist with the germ 
of a love-story which will appeal to many besides those 
interested in the poet’s romantic life. The scenes on the 
Bosphorus and in the Imperial harem at Stamboul, the 
attempted rising of the Greeks against the Turks, and 
Lord Byron’s love for the “ Maid of Athens,” are pictured 
with great vividness and power, and Thyrza, the daughter 
of a Greek patriot, is one of the most lovable creations of 
modem romantic fiction. 

Readers of “When the Land Was Young” need not be 
told that Miss McLaws is gifted with a wealth of creative 
imagination. Her new book is laden with the atmosphere 
of the early nineteenth century, and it is a living, breathing 
woman whose love and sorrows thrill us in this story. 
Byron himself, though vividly present in these pages, is 
second in interest to the lovely Greek girl Thyrza, who is 
depicted with a sjnnpathetic touch due perhaps to the 
author’s Southern birth and temperament. 


LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers 
254 Washington Street, Boston 




MhH.26 U)U6 



i 






